


Deadlock Noir

by BearWulf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Lesbian Character, M/M, Male Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearWulf/pseuds/BearWulf
Summary: Deadlock Noir is an Overwatch AU set in the 1920s with a slight steampunk theme. WWI did not happen. Historic bigotry and inequality is nonexistent. Prohibition also never happened in this AU. The focus of the story is on Jesse McCree and Reinhardt Wilhelm, and the development of their relationship. McCree is transferring from the Santa Fe police department to the Chicago police department, for a fresh start after a difficult sting operation in the Deadlock gang. Reinhardt is trying to come to terms with a failed investigation of the Shimada Pharmaceutical Company and the death of his previous police partner, Hanzo. Reinhardt and McCree are starting a new investigation into the Shimada Pharmaceutical Company, attempting to uncover the company's criminal pursuits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic work, and I chose to do McCree/Reinhardt because it's a fairly obscure ship, and I am in love with both of them. Seriously, I could marry either one and be the happiest man alive. The 1920s setting comes from the fact that I've always found that time in history fascinating, and it's not really done that much for Overwatch fics. In terms of length for this fic, I'm aiming for ~10 chapters, each chapter in between 4 and 5 thousand words. I will also state this here. This fic is rated Explicit because there will be VERY detailed sex between McCree and Reinhardt in one of the later chapters. That chapter will be nothing but smut, and will not advance the plot of the story any. I will provide a warning in the preceding chapter, so if you are only interested in the story, you can skip the smut chapter.
> 
> EDIT 1 - 11/20/2017: I changed the name of the Shimada Corporation to the Shimada Pharmaceutical Company, and referred to it casually after the first instance as Shimada Pharmaceutical. While working on Chapter 2 (which is being worked on, I'm hopeful I can release it before the end of the month) I realized that changing the name of the Shimada Corporation to what it now is made it flow better. That's all for now. :)
> 
> Update 07/07/2018 - I have a twitter now! Check out @BearWulf3 for future updates on Deadlock, as well as any other projects I start doing.

Deadlock Noir Chapter 1

 

Steam filled the platform as the train from Santa Fe screeched and squeaked to a halt. A man on-board woke from his troubled sleep, pushing his dark gray fedora up over his sleep-addled eyes. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and looked out the window. His first sight of Chicago was the dazzling art deco interior of the Chicago Union Station. Lots of columns, and artistic arches placed everywhere.

Sighing, he stretched and grabbed the suitcase that contained his clothing as well as some prized possessions. Walking with the rest of the passengers, he made his way to the train's exit. He checked the scuffed and dulled watch on his wrist. 11:00AM. He gave a small snort of amusement. He had arrived perfectly on time, something that he was certainly not known for in Santa Fe. Perhaps coming to Chicago was just the second chance that he was looking for.

Making his way to the glittering sunlit arrival concourse, a tall man wearing the stiff uniform of a police chief caught his eye and nodded at him, walking up to him.

“Jesse McCree, I take it?”

The chief spoke with a deep, gravelly voice, the clear result of years of smoking, and a less than easy life.

The man from the train smirked, a small smile appearing through the soft dark brown color of his beard.

“Yessir, that would be me. Jesse McCree, fresh arrived from Santa Fe, and ready to make a positive difference for the esteemed Chicago Police.” McCree spoke with the characteristic drawl of someone from the Southwest, and finished this statement with a tip of his hat.

“Well, welcome to the Windy City. I'm chief of police Jack Morrison. When addressing me, 'sir' or 'Chief Morrison' are the adequate responses. As I'm sure you're aware, the Chicago Police Department was in need of a detective, given recent events...”

Morrison trailed off into silence, causing McCree to raise an eyebrow. Clearly, there was something the chief was not telling him. McCree decided not to pursue it at the moment, as he had a feeling this would be information that would be revealed in time.  
Morrison coughed and continued, “Anyway, you're here because you were the only detective west of the Mississippi that was available for transfer. Besides, the chief of police in Santa Fe told me that while you were one of the best detectives on his force, this change was something that you needed. Something to reassert your focus...”

McCree's expression darkened as he thought of the event which brought him down to the lowest point in his life, the event that made necessary this relocation. Echoes of gunfire, screams, and splatters of blood reverberated through his mind...

“McCree? You alright?”

The gravelly tone of the chief's voice jolted him back to reality. McCree blinked and nodded his head.

“Sorry,” he intoned gruffly.

Morrison glared at him, stating in a somewhat irritated tone, “Son, one thing I do not take kindly to is drifting off in a daydream. Your old chief in Santa Fe may have been lenient with lack of focus, but I won't be. When I am talking to you, I expect your full attention. Understood?”

McCree narrowed his eyes briefly, then relaxed and said, “Yes,” and quickly added, “Sir.”

The chief gave him an appraising look, clearly not knowing what to think of this gruff man from the Southwest, vaguely reminiscent of a cowboy. However, he seemed satisfied with McCree's compliance and acknowledgment of authority, because he nodded and said, “Alright then. We're wasting time here. It's time we headed over to the station, so you can meet your colleagues, and be familiarized with the case you're going to be working on.”

Morrison turned and walked out of the concourse, leaving McCree standing where he was. Sighing, McCree reached down for his suitcase, and made his way after the chief. He thought to himself that Morrison was a real hard-ass, but he observed an undercurrent of fatigue emanating from the man. Or perhaps that was his own weariness he was sensing. Regardless, the chief was dealing with deeply stowed problems as well. Despite that, McCree sensed that Morrison meant well, and valued justice, even if his demeanor could be categorized as thoroughly abrasive.

Exiting Chicago's Union Station, McCree looked up and around him in awe at the towering skyscrapers, marveling at this concrete jungle. He was caught off-guard due to what he had lived with his entire life previously. Santa Fe still had not yet quite embraced the 20th Century, as most of the architecture there consisted of dusty pueblos and buildings indicative of a past as a wild west boomtown. Chicago, on the other hand, was a sparkling and modern vista, an indication of what technology and growth could bring to a city.

Morrison was waiting by his car, a flashy job that caught the eye of passersby with the blue body and chrome accents.

McCree whistled as he took in the details of the car, from the wheels to the curves.

“That is a mighty fine automobile you have there, sir.” McCree preferred motorcycles for his method of personal transportation, but he couldn't deny that this car was a beauty. Another example of Santa Fe still being somewhat behind in the modern world, cars like this were a rarity there. Horses were still the common mode of getting around there.

“Well, are you going to stand there gawking at it all day, or are you going to stop pissing in the wind and get in?” Morrison tried not to show it, but a small gleam of pride came to his eye at the praise of his car. There were few things in life the chief of police valued heavily, but this car was one of them.

McCree smirked, and put his suitcase in the backseat of the car, before sliding into the front passenger seat.

Morrison started the engine and put the car into drive, the mechanical sounds of movement intertwined with the roar of burning fuel. From there, they set off down the busy streets of Chicago on their way to the police station.

The drive passed in silence, but when they arrived at the police station, McCree couldn’t help but to once again be overwhelmed with awe. The Chicago police station was right on the edge of Lake Michigan, with its sparkling waters visible in the distance. After Morrison pulled into the parking spot designated for the chief of police, he stopped and turned towards McCree.

“So, are you ready to start your new career in this city?”

McCree nodded and said, “Yessir, I am ready for what this city can throw at me.”

Morrison gave him a glance, and said, “Don’t kid yourself, son. This is not Santa Fe. Chicago is dark, gritty, and filled with danger. Slipups here are fatal.”

McCree turned away from Morrison, to look out at Lake Michigan. Santa Fe was a source of darkness as well, as he remembered all too well. The echoes of that darkness threatened to overwhelm him as he stared at that calm surface. The things he had seen while working undercover in the Deadlock gang for the Santa Fe police department were enough to make most people need therapy for the rest of their lives, let alone the things he himself had done, with the distant reverberation of a gunshot, cries of pain, and a woman’s face swimming to the forefront of his mind…

McCree took a deep breath, gathered his suitcase, looked back at Morrison, and said, “I understand, sir. My guard will not be let down.”

Morrison nodded, and replied, “Alright then. Are you ready to meet your new colleagues?”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

McCree’s first thought as they crossed the threshold of the entrance of the police station was that Morrison’s method of operation would not be appreciated in a lot of places. Officers were moving briskly everywhere, seeing to their business, going to and fro with the swiftness and complexity of bees in a hive. To a civilian, it would look like unorganized chaos, but McCree knew better. He saw the subtlety and fluidity, of an operation that did in fact progress as smoothly as well-oiled clockwork.

Morrison said, “A lot of people come into my station for the first time and they make some comment on the apparent chaos. How does anything get done, they say? How do you manage it all? But you, you’re different McCree. You aren’t saying anything at all. What do you make of the situation?”  
McCree leaned against the entrance, and pushed up the brim of his hat.

“From what I gather, sir, it looks like chaos, but it isn’t. Everyone here knows exactly what their job is and where they're supposed to go. They know who they need to be reporting to with what, and when. That’s only really accomplished in a system where the man at the top gives direction, but he doesn’t micromanage. The man at the top provides guidelines for how he expects his system to be followed, but he only involves himself when it is necessary. Is that an accurate summary?”  
Morrison gave McCree a grudging nod, and said, “Yes. For the most part, that's an accurate description. I am the man on top, and I prefer to have my operation run without any interference from me, unless it’s necessary. And I hope that while you are here, that interference does not become necessary. Anyway, it’s time that you meet some other members of the force. Given your position as a detective, these people are the ones who you will be interacting with on a regular basis to do your job. It would be best if you familiarized yourself with them.”

McCree scratched his beard, and said, “I understand, sir. Who am I meeting first?”

Morrison stepped forward through the crowd, and paused at the top of a staircase, turning to look back at McCree.

“The first person I want you to meet is our CSI, Winston. Just a fair warning though, the man is cagey.”

McCree raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Cagey, sir?”

Morrison grunted in response, before saying, “Yeah, cagey. He’s definitely an excellent scientist and forensic analyst, but he is eccentric, and has ideas that are somewhat...unconventional.”  
McCree tilted his head, with a perplexed expression, and said, “Unconventional...how?”  
Morrison just shrugged and started making his way down the stairs.

McCree sighed, and followed him.

The lower level of the police station was darker and somewhat dingier than the main floor, and was lit by electric lights. Morrison led McCree to a small laboratory set off to the side of the main hallway, and gestured inside. Stepping through the door, he was quick to notice the disarray and mess. There were books on various sciences jumbled haphazardly in a bookshelf at the back of the room, with microscopes setup along the left wall. McCree walked forward and peered through the lenses of the nearest one. He saw two bullets lined up, positioned to be examined for similarities. On the right side wall of the room, there was a chemistry set with many different colored chemicals hissing and bubbling.

McCree turned to Morrison, and said evenly, “I still don’t see how being messy makes Winston ‘cagey,’ seems pretty normal for a brilliant, yet distracted mind.”  
Morrison snorted, and said, “Oh, you’ll see. If he’s not in here, he’s probably in his office.”

For the first time, McCree noticed a small door in the lab that said in faded lettering ‘Broom Closet,’ and just underneath that in slightly newer, if somewhat askew wording, was a sign that said ‘CSI: Winston Harrison.’

Morrison stalked over to the door and gave it a hard rap.

“Winston! Are you in there? There’s a new transfer that I want you to meet!”

A somewhat muffled rumble came in response, and the door opened a few seconds later, with the head of a young man poking through.  
“I hear ya, Chief, no need to be loud about it. I’ve got sensitive hearing, you know.”

Winston Harrison was a man who looked to be about five foot nine, very hairy, with stocky arms and legs. In McCree’s eyes, he looked almost exactly like a gorilla. McCree took a moment to compose himself, then extended his hand out.

“The name’s McCree. Jesse McCree. I’m the new detective from Santa Fe.”

Winston took his hand and shook it vigorously.

“Greetings, my name is Winston. I am a scientist and the resident CSI for the Chicago Police Department.”

McCree was starting to get an idea as to why Morrison stated that Winston was a bit eccentric, but this didn’t stop him from chuckling when he responded, “You know, it’s the oddest thing, but I think I might have gathered that. Although initially, I thought your name was ‘Broom Closet.’”

Winston looked a little surprised, but took it in stride, laughing along with McCree.

“Yes yes, I have asked for quite a while now to have that door replaced with a more modern representation, but a certain someone keeps denying that request...” And with that he gave a very pointed look towards Morrison, who coughed and mumbled something about not having enough money.

Winston rolled his eyes and turned back towards McCree.

“So, you’re going to be working with Reinhardt on the Shimada case, hmm?”

McCree raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, I guess. I didn’t really know the details of my transfer here.”

Winston nodded vigorously and said, “Yes, it’s a tough case, that’s for sure. Reinhardt will definitely be pleased to have a new partner working with him, especially after what happened with Hanzo-”

Morrison cleared his throat loudly, shooting Winston a look.

“You know Winston, I’m sure Reinhardt will be perfectly capable of informing McCree the ins and outs of this case. I’m also sure that McCree will be more than up to the task of it.”

Winston looked like he wanted to say something else, but he slowly closed his mouth and looked down at his feet.

“Yes, sir. I never meant to insinuate that McCree was not able to do his job.”

McCree was looking back and forth between Morrison and Winston. There was definitely something going on here, but McCree felt he wouldn’t be able to learn anything more at the moment, not with Morrison there. Whatever was going on in this Shimada case was assuredly not good, and he wanted to know exactly what it was.

Morrison coughed again, and said, “Alright. Well, McCree, before you meet your new partner, there is one more person I’d like you to meet. Her name is Aleksandra Zaryanova, and she is in charge of the armory here. Any equipment you need, you go to her. That being said, we’d best be on our way...”

Morrison was then cut short by an intercom sounding next to the entrance of Winston’s lab.

“Oh, for Chrissake, what now?”

He strode over and hit the button.

“Yes? What is it?”

A delicate, but smooth female voice responded, and said, “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you, and I know that you are giving the tour of the building to the new transfer from Santa Fe, but well...there is a pressing matter that I urgently think you should attend to.”

Morrison sighed, and with a fatigued look as though he knew exactly what this matter was, he said, “I told him I would talk to him tonight. He knows how tight my schedule is. Tell him I’m busy right now, Ms. Vaswani.”

The woman, who McCree deduced was Morrison’s assistant or secretary, hesitated briefly before stating, “Uh, well sir, he’s being very...insistent. Mr. Reyes said that he won’t leave unless he speaks to you. Shall I have him escorted out?”

Morrison pinched the bridge of his nose, and replied, “No. Don’t do that. I’ll come up and talk to him. Winston can finish up our new detective’s tour.”

“Yes sir. I’ll let him know immediately.”

Morrison disconnected the intercom, and proceeded to punch the wall next to it.

“FUCK! Damn that man. Winston, finish up McCree’s tour. I have an insufferable idiot to deal with.”

And before either McCree or Winston could say anything more, Morrison strode out of the lab, slamming the door behind him.

McCree turned to Winston, and said, “What the hell was that about?”

Winston sighed, turning towards McCree and giving him a thoughtful look.

“Well, it’s not really my place to tell you about this, but...let’s just say that there’s a lot of history between Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes.”

“Oh? What kind of history?”

Winston paused, scratching the back of his neck.

“Complicated history. _Very_ complicated history.”

McCree snorted and said, “Must be, to get that kind of response out of Morrison. What did Reyes do, shoot his dog?”

Winston shook his head sadly.

“No, worse than that. He broke the chief’s heart.”

A look of mild surprise crossed McCree’s face, but it started to make sense to him, now that he thought about what he knew thus far about Morrison. The unnatural sharpness of his demeanor, the way he carried himself as if he was carrying fatigue with him wherever he went...it made perfect sense if all that was due to a complicated romantic history. But now that he did know, he had to know more.

“So, what exactly did Reyes do to him? How did he affect their relationship so much that Morrison turned into such a hardass?”

Winston shook his head again.

“It’s really not my place to say. I’ve probably told you more than you should know about it already.” Winston paused to look at his watch.

“Well, we should probably get you up to the armory to meet Ms. Zaryanova, or Zarya, as everyone here calls her. If I know Morrison, he had a schedule worked out for how long this tour was supposed to take, and if there is one thing that Zarya does not like, it’s lateness.”

Winston opened the door, and motioned for McCree to go after him. McCree walked through and waited while Winston locked the door. After he was finished, the pair of them started walking up the stairs, Winston in the lead, McCree slightly behind.

Winston briefly glanced back at McCree, and hesitated before stating, “So, Morrison really didn’t tell you anything about why you were transferred here?”

McCree shook his head, “Nope. All he told me over the phone while we were discussing the possibility of my transferring here from Santa Fe was that there was a high profile case that the department was working on where my skills could be put to use well. He didn’t go any further into detail apart from mentioning that my presence would be valued. Especially since there was an opening on the force, because of a former detective leaving.”

Winston gave him a piercing look, and paused before he responded.

“Well, it’s true that we are working on a high profile case. How much do you know about the Shimada Pharmaceutical Company?”

“Not much. They’re a pharmaceutical company, isn’t that right? Beyond that, I don’t know a whole lot about them. They didn’t really have a large presence in Santa Fe.”

Winston nodded, and said, “Yes, they are a very well known company up in this part of the country though, that’s for sure. Their headquarters are actually located here in Chicago.”

He paused there, and didn’t resume his train of thought until after they had reached the top of the stairs and they were on their way to the armory.

“McCree, I don’t want to tell you too much about this. The majority of the information that you get on this should be received from Reinhardt. What I can tell you though, is that six months ago the Chicago PD was gathering evidence on Shimada Pharmaceutical. There were a lot of suspected illicit dealings. The force, led by Reinhardt, was making a lot of progress on bringing them to justice. And then...”

McCree, cocked his head, interest peaked.

“...then what?”

Winston sighed before continuing.

“Just as the police were getting ready to go to trial, Reinhardt’s partner, Hanzo, died. It was supposedly an accident, but Reinhardt never believed it to be so. He got distracted. One of the last pieces of evidence that was brought in for the case, when it was considered in court, was found to have been obtained without cause. This case, which almost everyone here was working on in some way, shape, or form for many, many months, was thrown out. On a technicality. Reinhardt fell into a bad way, because of the impact that this case could have had if Shimada Pharmaceutical was brought to justice. There could have been a lot of innocent lives that could have been saved.”

Winston’s mention of innocent lives brought McCree back a few months in his own timeline, on one of his last assignments for the Santa Fe police department, when he was working undercover in the Deadlock Gang. There were innocent lives lost there as well, and McCree blamed himself for what happened. Perhaps he and this Reinhardt fellow could help each other out. Perhaps this was why he got this posting at all. His former chief back in Santa Fe and Morrison probably thought that the anguish and difficulties experienced by their top detectives could be solved by bringing these two troubled souls together.

“McCree? Are you alright?” Winston asked.

Snapping out of his reverie, McCree scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sorry. I just was a little lost in thought there for a moment.”

Winston looked at him, almost as though studying him, and McCree felt that Winston knew that there were things that McCree wasn’t telling him. Not that Winston was entirely forthright, either. McCree could tell that the information Winston had told him about the case against Shimada Pharmaceutical was barely skimming the surface. There was a lot more there, and it frustrated him that Winston was unwilling to tell him any more. Despite that, he found himself liking this man who strongly resembled a gorilla. Winston was definitely an intelligent individual, and his eccentricity was not arrogance. McCree got the impression that Winston would be a friend to him in this new place.

After going through a hallway on the first floor of the building, the pair arrived at a door marked ‘Armory,’ and before they entered it, Winston said, “Prepare yourself.”

“For what?”

“For Alexandra Zarynova.”

And then he opened the door.

McCree stepped through the threshold, and barely had time to take in all the weaponry that the CPD had available to it, before he found himself slammed against the wall, with a thick Russian accent yelling in his ear.

“Who are you? Why are you here? Talk, before I squeeze your head like adorable stuffed bear!”

McCree tried to say something along the lines of ‘My name is Jesse McCree,’ but it came out as, “Mmmmnnmgggfddd.”

This didn’t quite impress the force pinning him to the wall, which started to put even more pressure on. Fortunately for McCree, Winston stepped in.

“Zarya, this is the new detective in from Santa Fe. This is Jesse McCree. I thought Morrison told you?”

The Russian force eased off of McCree, who was able to catch his breath, before turning around and seeing a mammoth of a woman before him. This woman was close to, if not above, seven feet tall, and had thick, muscular arms and legs, with a shock of blond hair. She sneered at McCree, “Hmmph. The Chief must have really been scraping bottom of barrel for us to get this shrimp! He doesn’t look like he’d last a day.”

McCree took the insult in stride, and decided to ignore it. Clearly, he was going to have to prove himself in this precinct. This was not something foreign to him, as he had to prove himself time and time again throughout his life.

Smiling, he gestured to one of the semi-automatic pistols kept on a rack.

“Fine pieces of hardware the CPD has here. Them semi-autos, they’re Colt M1911 .38s, right?”

Zarya raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that this newcomer would have even the remotest knowledge of her armory.

“Yes, that is correct. Only the best for the Chicago Police Force!”

McCree, still with his characteristic swagger of a smile, said, “Too bad they aren’t the best.”

“What?!” Zarya thundered.

McCree tipped his hat. “You heard me. Those 1911s are good, but they aren’t the best. That would go to my Peacekeeper.”

And with that, he put his suitcase that he was carrying on the ground, unlocked it, and drew out his most cherished possession. His Peacekeeper revolver, handcrafted and given to him by his father, they day that he graduated into the Santa Fe Police department. It glinted in the light as the familiar grip eased into his right hand. Winston was left temporarily speechless as he looked at the pistol, clearly admiring it.

Zarya on the other hand, was not so impressed, judging by her raucous laughter.

“Ha ha ha, oh, that little pea shooter? Better than the latest Colt M1911s? Oh, you may be a shrimp McCree, but you do at least have a sense of humor!”

She shook her head, still chortling.

McCree turned towards her, unperturbed.

“Oh, I’m not joking at all. In fact, I’m willing to prove it. What say we have a friendly competition in target practice? Six shots apiece, and we’ll see who has the better grouping, hmm? That is unless of course you’re scared of being beat by some cow poke from Santa Fe, in which case I completely understand.”

Zarya stopped laughing, and narrowed her eyes at McCree.

“You seriously think that old thing can beat me? I think that is most amusing joke of all, McCree. I accept your challenge.”

Winston went over to McCree, and said, “Uh, McCree, you might want to rethink this. Zarya is the best marksman in the entire police department. Especially by putting yourself at a disadvantage with a revolver over a semi-automatic weapon, this seems wholly unnecessary.”

McCree chuckled, and said to Winston, “Oh, but it is so necessary my friend. I am intent on proving that it is the shooter, not the gun, that warrants success. Though my gun is superior. So, Zarya, shall we get this friendly little competition underway?”

Winston shook his head, and stood in the back of the firing range that was setup within the armory, while McCree and Zarya took their positions in their respective firing stations. Zarya stood with purpose, apparently assured of her victory. McCree smirked. He _knew_ that he would beat Zarya. Zarya might have been the best marksman in the entire Chicago Police Department, but McCree was widely regarded as one of, if not the best, marskmans in the entire Southwest region.

Winston was designated as the judge for this display, and he counted down the start for the participants. McCree took a deep breath. Zarya scowled. Then Winston gave the signal for Zarya to begin. She readied her M1911, and fired, the sound ringing through the armory. In all, it took Zarya less than a minute to go through her six rounds. It wasn’t a bad grouping, with four of her shots in close proximity to the bullseye, and two others being close to the exterior edges of the target.

With a cocky grin, she gestured for McCree to begin his run. McCree eased his breathing, stabilizing the rate, and stared down at his feet, before closing his eyes. He cleared his mind of all thought, and then, as the passage of time seemed almost to stop, he struck. His eyes flew open, drawing Peacekeeper, and with a steely flash, he emptied all six rounds into the target within seconds. Six rounds. Six hits. All hit the bullseye, so that six holes made one large void. There was no contest. He was the winner. He proved that it was the shooter, not the gun, that made the difference.

Zarya and Winston looked on in awe, neither saying a word. McCree's face was neutral.

“Well, Winston, I think it's time I met my partner, got to work on this case. Wouldn't you agree?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having bested Zarya in a competition of firearms, McCree is now on his way to meeting Reinhardt. He will learn about this case in depth, and all the circumstances surrounding it. Reinhardt gages McCree's ability, both with in person observation, and comparing it to the research that he had already done on McCree. The darkness of the Shimada case is touched upon, alongside the darkness that both McCree and Reinhardt are trying to overcome. Reinhardt and McCree feel an immediate connection and understanding for one another, hinting at their development in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a whole lot for me to say about the notes for this chapter. Nothing really dark and gritty. Not yet, anyway. ;) The way I thought of it, chapter 1 was an introduction, and chapter 2 is the second part of that introduction, just focusing more on the backstory of the present situation. I'll stop rambling now. Go, read on! And thank you to everyone that has taken a look at my work thus far. Almost 175 people have read Deadlock Noir! :D I also just thought of this: Readers will notice that I've described Reinhardt as being in his late forties, while canonically in the main Overwatch universe he is 61. The reason for this is that I wanted Reinhardt to be brought closer in age to McCree to make their relationship more...probable. It's much easier to rectify an approximately ten year difference than it is a 20+ difference. That's all for now!
> 
> Progress Update 12/31/2017: I want to try to keep you guys up to date on what I'm doing with my work, so I just want to let you know that chapter three has been finished, and my beta readers are currently going over it. Once I've gotten their feedback and adjusted it accordingly, it will be uploaded. Happy New Year! Even though Deadlock Noir is still early in its development, I've got a lot of plans and ideas for my writing in 2018. Thank you everyone for all the support!

Chapter 2

 

McCree put his Peacekeeper pistol back into his briefcase, and turned to look at the still awestruck faces of Zarya and Winston. Zarya was struggling to find something to say, before she managed to sputter, “How...how is this possible...no one should be able to fire that fast, and that accurately… NO ONE!”

McCree smiled at her and said, “Well, Ms. Zaryanova, you may be the best marksman in the entire Chicago Police Department, but I am widely regarded as one of the best shooters in the whole Southwest. Let’s just say that I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.”

Zarya’s look of disbelief was quickly mottling into anger. She didn’t like to be humiliated, and this unknown cowboy from Santa Fe just embarrassed her heavily. She started making motions towards McCree, and Winston, sensing danger, took this moment to clear his throat noisily.

“Well, McCree, you mentioned that you wanted to go and meet your new partner, isn’t that right? I think it’s high time we did so, and get you to work on this case straight away.”

As Winston said this, he gave a very pointed look towards the door. McCree picked up on what Winston was trying to convey to him, and nodded.

“Yes, Winston, I think you’re correct. I would like to meet this Reinhardt character.”

With that, McCree followed Winston out of the armory, leaving an angry Zarya to stew. While walking through the corridor, they heard a charged curse in Russian, along with the sound of something smashing into the wall.

Winston winced, looking at McCree.

“You know, you don’t want to have Alexandra Zarynova as an enemy. She is not someone to be trifled with. Was it really necessary to humiliate her like that?”

McCree hesitated a moment before answering, “Was I trying to humiliate her? No. That was not my intention. But, I did need to prove myself to her. I’ve experienced far too much in my life where people underestimate me and try to walk over me. I wanted to make sure that that was not the case with Zarya. And if that costs me trying to get things out of the armory? So be it. Although, I think we can both acknowledge that I will probably have very little reason to visit the armory after what I’ve shown today.”

Winston looked thoughtful before responding, and when he finally did, he asked, “What was that, by the way?”

“What was what?”

“You know what. Zarya’s right, acquiring targets like that with such speed is not normal.”

McCree didn’t respond initially. After a pause, he replied, “What do you know about the Deadeye, Winston?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid. Why, what is it?”

“You see, one of the reasons why the Deadlock gang was so notorious in Santa Fe was because they had developed a shooting technique that they called the ‘Deadeye.’ It was created as sort of a combat meditation and focus technique that, by channeling one’s internal energy, enabled a shooter to accomplish seemingly miraculous feats of speed and accuracy. This was one of the reasons why I was sent undercover into the Deadlock gang. I made myself look like a mercenary that wanted to improve his skillset. They taught me how to use the Deadeye. To their own misfortune.”

McCree looked away at this point, looking back at something that Winston could not see, the darkness of his past. The Deadlock gang had shaped McCree into a lot of who he was, and it was difficult for him to reconcile that there was any light left in him after all the horrible things that he had seen and done during his time undercover. It was ironic, really, that the Deadlock gang was undone by the effectiveness of their own technique. Despite this though, McCree would never be able to forgive himself that he was unable to save _her…_

Winston interrupted this reverie with a small cough.

“I still find it hard to believe that the Deadlock gang would have let you in so readily. With your skills as a renowned marksman, and your establishment in the police department, I’m surprised they didn’t attempt to kill you on sight.”

McCree snorted, before replying, “It wasn’t easy. Before joining up, I had to go deep cover. Make it seem like to everyone that knew me that I was leaving the police force, that I was dissatisfied with the life, and that I would be better off as a hired gun. It was hard. And even then, I had to prove myself to the Deadlocks. There are things in my past there that I cannot be forgiven for. Ever.”

Winston took a moment to consider his words, as he looked over McCree. McCree tried to give off an easy, nonchalant air, but underneath all that, Winston could see the tiredness. The slight droop in his shoulders. The ghosts of his past that came through in his gaze. Winston couldn’t understand what any of that was like, as he had never been undercover, and the most dangerous thing that he had to worry about on a day to day basis was slipping on something in his notoriously messy lab.

“I’m sorry, McCree. I should have thought about what all of that meant to you, and what you are fighting.”

McCree waved him off, and said, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. It’s not easy for me to talk about my past.” While he appreciated Winston’s words, he didn’t want to him to feel as though he was to blame for not understanding. He suspected few would.

Winston nodded, and they continued on in silence for a few more minutes. Winston pointed out some other areas of the police department as they passed them, the cafeteria, the archive room which held non-public information about past cases. Until finally, they reached a door that said ‘Senior Detective – Reinhardt Wilhelm.’

Winston said, “Well, here we are. I’m sure Reinhardt will be very glad to meet you. I wish I could stick around, but I really have to get back to my lab. There are reports that if I don’t finish them, Morrison will have my head. You understand, I hope.”

Winston started walking away, and McCree called out to him.

“Hey, Winston.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for taking the time to show me around today. I really appreciate it. If I can ever help you out with something, let me know. I consider you a friend, which is something that I haven’t had in a long time.”

Winston smiled, and said, “You’re welcome. And, I’ll keep your offer in mind. Thank you.” With that, he made his way back to the main atrium, and the staircase that lead down to where his lab was.

McCree sighed, and with his hand on Reinhardt’s door, slowly eased it open, ready to get started on this new case.

As he stepped through the threshold, he closed the door behind him, and that's when he heard a deep, hearty male voice.

“Hello! You must be my new partner!”

McCree turned around, and his breath caught in his throat, leaving him lost for words. Before him stood a mountain of a man in his late forties with white hair and a thick beard the same color. Reinhardt Wilhelm was close to seven feet tall, with an exceptionally muscular frame. His face was mildly scarred, with the exception of a severe scar across his left eye that also seemed to have left that eye blind. His expression was that of a jovial man, but there were shadows that indicated a past of sadness and loss. As McCree looked Reinhardt up and down, he realized that all of his traits culminated to make for a man that he felt an immediate attraction for.

The silence that followed as McCree took in his observations of Reinhardt was starting to make for an awkward pause. In response to McCree's awe-struck state, Reinhardt tilted his head curiously, and asked him, “Are you alright? It's my height, isn't it? A lot of people think I am absolutely monstrous the first time they see me. I have been called a giant before, simply too big to exist, they say! Personally, I think it's an accurate assessment, but one I take in stride proudly!”

Reinhardt let out a hearty laugh at the end of this statement.

Somewhere deep in McCree's mind, something registered through the fog of his shock that he should respond. Slowly coming out of his reverie, he said, “No. Your height is fine...Everything about you is...fine.”

As he finished that thought, he briefly made eye contact with Reinhardt, staring into those light blue, almost gray, eyes. There was a soft warmth in Reinhardt's gaze that was threatening to bring the fog in his mind back in full force, so he quickly averted them.

McCree shook his head, giving himself a mental shake as well. He needed to pull it together, he thought. The odds that Reinhardt was like him, that he was also...well, it was an extremely remote chance, and McCree was here to do a job. It wouldn't do him any good to be distracted by this man whom he was supposed to have a professional relationship with.

With a final breath and sigh, McCree looked back at Reinhardt, and extended his hand out.

“The name's McCree. Jesse McCree is my full name, but I prefer to go by my surname. I take it you're Reinhardt Wilhelm?”

Reinhardt reached forward and wrung McCree's hand firmly and enthusiastically.

“You would be correct! So, you're going to be my new partner, hmm? You're going to help me slay that dastardly dragon known as Shimada Pharmaceutical?”

McCree nodded, responding, “Yes. I’ve heard some things about this case already from Winston, but I was hoping to get the full rundown from you.”

Reinhardt’s gaze turned serious, and he looked most intently at McCree.

“Oh? And what have you been told thus far?”

McCree shifted slightly before answering, “Not that much, actually. Just that this is the second time that a case is under progress to be brought against Shimada Pharmaceutical. The first failed due to a technicality in court, but beyond that I haven’t really been briefed.”

Reinhardt scrutinized McCree, stroking his beard. McCree could tell that Reinhardt was wondering if he had been told about Hanzo, but he felt that initiating their meeting by bringing up his dead partner would not bode well.

Reinhardt stood against his desk, considering McCree. Reinhardt had done quite a bit of research on McCree before he had arrived, so he knew a fair bit about him already. Although, it was apparent that McCree had not done any research on him, given the surprised reaction he had when he first saw Reinhardt. Reinhardt knew from McCree’s file that he was analytical, intelligent, preferring to work calmly in the background to find his solutions to the problems that were presented to him. This was in sharp contrast to the style that Reinhardt worked by, which was much more upfront and brash.

He came to the conclusion that this exact difference in method was what was needed to crack this case wide open. He thought regretfully that his brashness and exuberance may have been what caused the first case to fail, and before that, caused the death of his partner. McCree was well-built, not bulging with muscles like his own towering frame, but clearly capable of taking care of himself. Based on what he knew from his file, McCree knew how to gauge risk.

The precise events that lead him to being at the Chicago police department were not documented apart from some declassified information about his last assignment with the Santa Fe police. Apparently, after a long sting operation to take down the Deadlock gang, the Santa Fe police chief thought it best if McCree was transferred out. Reinhardt wished that the details of the case were not classified, because it was obvious to him that McCree went through something awful. Reinhardt saw the same shadows and darkness in McCree’s face that he saw in himself every time he looked in a mirror. The same look that he had had ever since Hanzo had died. Perhaps, he thought, they could help each other find the light again.

Reinhardt relaxed, and indicated for McCree to sit at the desk perpendicular to his own. McCree nodded, and eased himself into the chair behind it. Reinhardt sat at his own desk, saying as he did, “That is definitely the barebones of what happened. I will have to commend Winston, usually he goes into extreme detail with everything he talks about, especially in regards to his field. Seriously though, don’t let him get started on scientific discussions when you are in the room. You won’t be able to leave.”

Reinhardt chuckled and winked at McCree when he finished this statement, causing McCree to blush through his beard.

Damn him, McCree thought. He was determined to make this a professional relationship, and yet this great big bear of a man, either intentionally or not, seemed intent on making that as difficult for him as possible.

Fortunately for McCree, Reinhardt did not notice his moment of awkwardness, because his attention was focused on his desk. Reinhardt was rummaging through the drawers, gathering up all the papers and information that had been gathered thus far for the Shimada case file. Both the first failed attempt, as well as this new fresh start.

By the time Reinhardt was finished gathering everything up, it was a rather impressive stack of documents, most of which was tied to the first case. It was a shame, McCree thought, that it had all been tossed aside because of one small technicality, a technicality he expected he would learn about shortly.

“Well, I think this is all of it. Do you want the in-depth presentation, or shall I run through only the important bits?”

“I’d rather we go through this in-depth. If I’m going to be of assistance on this new case, I will need to know everything about it.”

Reinhardt nodded, and said, “Very well then. So, to start this off from the beginning, this case was originally propositioned for us to investigate by a former employee of Shimada Pharmaceutical. This man’s name was Franklin Amberlain. Mr. Amberlain worked at Shimada Pharmaceutical as a researcher for their new drug, Dragonfyre. You know what Dragonfyre is?”

Dragonfyre. Yes, McCree was familiar with it. Dragonfyre was a painkiller, a wonder drug that was supposed to be able to eliminate any sense of pain with just one pill. It was also reported to be very addictive, and dangerous, as it was not hard to overdose on it. The Deadlock Gang was looking into pushing it before McCree exposed their operations and shut them down.

Seeing McCree’s look of comprehension, Reinhardt nodded and continued on, “Mr. Amberlain told us that Shimada Pharmaceutical was trying to rake in extra profits with Dragonfyre by selling it on the black market. Dragonfyre is expensive if bought legitimately, because it requires a signed prescription from a person’s doctor. Because of this, and the regulations that are in place, Shimada Pharmaceutical has very little profit margin. But, by selling it on the black market, they are able to sell it for whatever price they desire, with extremely good profit margins. The cut a street dealer takes is nothing compared to the lost profit on the legal market. And, since it’s illicit, there is no guarantee of the quality received. Purportedly, a lot of the Dragonfyre on the street comes from the “bad” batches that Shimada Pharmaceutical makes, the batches that would never make it through regulation.”

Reinhardt reached into his desk and pulled out a flask, taking a swig before setting it on the desk. McCree was somewhat surprised by this. Reinhardt may have a front in place as being happy and enthusiastic, but McCree had yet to meet a man who carried around a hip flask that was not attempting to cover up his troubles with the contents therein.

“Well, shortly after telling us this, Mr. Amberlain was found washed up on the shore of Lake Michigan, with a bullet hole in his head. His killer was never found. After his death, Morrison decided that the police would pursue a full investigation of Shimada Pharmaceutical, as a favor to his grieving family. Thus, the task fell to me and...my former partner, Hanzo.”

He sighed and took a very deep breath before continuing, “We started off with the typical methods of investigation. We interviewed officials with Shimada Pharmaceutical, who of course stated that Shimada Pharmaceutical was not involved in the black market, and that Mr. Amberlain was a disgruntled liar seeking to make a buck off of the company. We took a look at their shipping manifests, there were no discrepancies. Everything seemed by the book, with no possibility of illicit dealings. Until, we had a break. Hanzo noticed a pattern of shipments each month that didn’t add up. Several cases of Dragonfyre would be shipped out to pharmacies, only to disappear in transit, never to be received. When we questioned Shimada Pharmaceutical, they claimed not to have any knowledge of what was happening to the shipments, that all of their records indicated that all purchased batches of Dragonfyre had been received by the prospective pharmacies. When we contacted all the pharmacies again, we discovered that they had given us 'incorrect' shipping invoices before, and now they all mysteriously lined up with the line being given from Shimada Pharmaceutical.”

A brief pause, as another swig from the flask was drunk.

“Regardless though, we now had things to go on. Shimada Pharmaceutical had slipped up once, we were all sure that they would do it again. Hanzo decided to look in on the shipping orders himself, and see if he could find where the discrepancies were originating from. I investigated the higher ups of Shimada Pharmaceutical, those that would benefit from this cloak and dagger routine. Winston looked into the chemical makeup of Dragonfyre and compared the legal store-bought variety to a sample acquired on the black market, as well as to other available painkillers. Morrison did not want to interact with the case directly, but he did task the Roadhogs gang to see if they could find a point of origin through the black market, as Shimada Pharmaceutical would need a fence for distribution. Thus, we all had our roles. The board was set for the overall investigation to commence in full force!”

Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, easing into his memories.

“And for a few months, that's exactly how things progressed. Hanzo's research into the shipments showed a pattern, where cases of Dragonfyre would go missing always at a specific time during the month, when the Shimada Pharmaceutical production facility would have a date of overproduction listed, with higher than usual bad batch units. This corroborated the efforts of the Roadhogs gang, which found that the production facility was selling these bad batches of Dragonfyre to a fence who was known only by the street name of 'Shrike.' Winston found that Dragonfyre was based on a stronger synthetic version of morphine, which made the street version all the more dangerous. I found through my investigations that the people most likely to benefit from Dragonfyre being sold illicitly were at the very top of the Shimada hierarchy. Hanzo's brother Genji among them. But then...”

It was at this point that Reinhardt’s face tightened and distorted, his voice growing shallow and angry, and McCree knew that he was about to hear the circumstances regarding Hanzo’s death.

“Hanzo told me that he had a new lead, that there was a warehouse that was the initial distribution point for Shimada Pharmaceutical after Dragonfyre was manufactured. He went to investigate it one day, and...he never returned. A civilian called in that his car was found crashed into a lamppost on North Michigan Avenue. He must have hit it at some speed, as it was completely twisted and mangled. And inside, lay...his body. Shattered. Broken. An investigation of the crash was conducted, and it was determined that Hanzo must have fallen asleep at the wheel. I refused to believe it. Hanzo was not the kind of person to let himself fall into a state of lack of sleep, he was far too methodical. He lived the same routine every day, like clockwork. Even if he did get into a state where he was suffering from lack of sleep, he was smart enough not to risk driving. Someone murdered him, I know it. Someone at Shimada Pharmaceutical knew he was getting close to discovering something critical, so they had him killed, the bastards. My money is on his brother. I’ve never liked Genji Shimada. He’s always had a holier than thou persona, and he’s always resented Hanzo. Hanzo was the older of the two, and was slotted to inherit leadership of the company from their father. The only reason he didn’t was because Hanzo had a calling for police work, and had no interest in running the family legacy. Genji knew this, and knew the success in his life was all attributed to a decision that he had no control over. Besides all that though, Hanzo’s loss was a sacrifice that was made in vain, because in my anger at his death, I fucked up. Me, the one who was deemed in charge of this investigation, and who should have known better, I ruined it single-handedly. When it came to trial, I had included a piece of evidence that I had obtained from Genji, and it caused the whole case to be thrown out, because I got it without a warrant. It wasn’t even significant! So, because of me, the Chicago PD has been made the fool, and I dishonored and shamed the memory of my friend. I am a failure.”

Reinhardt sighed, and took another swig from his flask, his fist clenching it. The pain and suffering that this man was going through was apparent to McCree, as it was pain that he himself knew well. It was the pain of a broken man, pain that was covered up with a forced smile to the outside world, but inside was hell and agony.

McCree looked gently at Reinhardt, “Reinhardt...I’m sorry. I had no idea the amount of suffering that this has caused you. Hanzo sounds like he was a decent human being, and that in itself is hard enough to come by these days. I swear to you, I will do whatever I can with this new investigation to help bring Shimada Pharmaceutical to justice for the crimes that they have gotten away with to this point. And…”

McCree stood up, hesitating before continuing on, unsure that he should be saying this, but deciding to hell with it.

“And, you are not a failure. You are a strong, honorable man, whose sense of justice and what is right and wrong is unbroken and unfaltering. You made it your mission to defend those who could not defend themselves, at any cost. Everyone here at the Chicago PD that I have seen thus far understands that. You did not dishonor Hanzo’s memory. You did not shame him. You made a mistake, which anyone could have done, because we are all human. Make up for that mistake, make this new case airtight. Shut down Shimada Pharmaceutical. We are all behind you on this. Except me. I am right there with you on the front lines. And I always will be.”

He sat back down, having said his piece.

Reinhardt looked up from his flask, and fixed McCree with a gaze that caused shivers to go down his spine. The gray of his good eye reminded him of a summer’s storm, right before the rain.

“McCree...thank you. You’re right. I’ve been letting myself go, just a little bit day by day, ever since this all collapsed around me.” He indicated the flask on his desk.

“What you’ve just told me though, it’s given me hope. As long as my intentions were pure, and for the purpose of righting wrongs, I could never dishonor those I care about. In fact, the only people I’ve dishonored are my German ancestors. They would be ashamed of me for wallowing in a combined lake of self-pity and alcohol. Those who have the honor of wielding the Wilhelm name should never let themselves sink so low. I needed reminding of that, and I thank you for it. Though I’ve only known you a day, already I consider you a friend, McCree. I hope you think the same of me.”

Reinhardt’s voice was husky with gratitude and emotion as he inclined his head toward McCree.

McCree nervously pushed the up the brim of his fedora, before responding, “Reinhardt, of course I think of you as a friend.” McCree, of all people, understood having to live with the mistakes one regrets. One day, he would tell Reinhardt just how much he could understand what his new partner had gone through.

Reinhardt smiled, and said, “I’m glad. Now, it’s getting late. There’s a club nearby called The Iris. Tonight, we celebrate your addition to the Chicago PD and the renewed offensive we shall make on Shimada Pharmaceutical. Tomorrow, we will throw ourselves into this second investigation.”

McCree grinned in turn, replying, “Here here. I can drink heartily to that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt and McCree make their way to The Iris (a local social hub, and the best club their side of Chicago) in order to unwind and celebrate McCree's induction into the police force. Upon arriving, they run into several familiar faces, and some new ones, including Hana Song, a local college student. While discussing their work with Lena and Emily, friends of Winston, a sinister figure in the shadows listens in to the conversation. This figure makes a play that changes the course and fates of our heroes to come, with darker tones looming on the horizon.

Chapter 3

 

“Well, I suppose it’s time we made our way to The Iris. Tell me McCree, what are your thoughts on jazz music?”

Reinhardt and McCree were standing outside his office as he locked the door. McCree was leaning casually against the wall, and responded lightly, “I can’t say that I have an opinion on it, sadly. Santa Fe was not exactly known for embracing the new things of this century.”

The lock clicked, and Reinhardt grasped the handle to test that the door didn’t open.

“You’re in for a treat, then. Jazz is vibrant, powerful. I have heard nothing else in my life that will make you feel happy, sad, contemplative, and hysterical all within the space of seconds. Especially if Lucio is playing tonight. That man is capable of working wonders on the saxophone.”

As they were walking towards the main entrance of the station, Reinhardt explained further that The Iris was a social hub for the area, popular with civilians as well as off duty officers.

“Yes, a lot of younger people end up there. I know that the students from the University of Chicago frequent it, as well as young professionals. Sometimes makes me feel awkward being around people twenty years my junior, but that is one of the delights of The Iris. Everyone is welcome, no matter their origin, their backstory, it doesn’t matter. The club’s owner, Amelie, does her best to make all feel included. So don’t worry, my friend. You’ll fit in.”

Reinhardt finished this statement with an easy grin, which McCree returned with his own small smile. Despite what Reinhardt said, McCree had a sense of foreboding about going to The Iris that he couldn’t quite explain.

Since the operation in the Deadlock Gang had ended, McCree had found himself avoiding social situations to the best of his ability, preferring to find an isolated spot in a lonely bar, quietly downing a glass of whiskey. As such, he couldn’t remember the last time that he had gone out to a club for a night of enjoyment. But, he wasn’t in Santa Fe anymore. This was a new start for him, and it was time that he embraced that.

As they headed out the main doors of the station, McCree looked out at the dusky twilight settling over the city, and breathed out a sigh, taking in the scene.

“It’s amazing. During the day, Chicago is a glistening modern vista. At night, it changes. Everything simultaneously becomes more muted, yet more pronounced. Individual details that before were washed away are vibrant, accentuated. The soft glow of the sunset ripples through the city, marking everything it touches.”

Finishing this thought, McCree turned and looked at Reinhardt, who was just as struck by the changing light as the surrounding skyscrapers. The way that the dusky orange hues of twilight settled across his face gave him an almost golden aura. For just a brief moment, Reinhardt looked like a king from legendary tales of old.

With McCree still looking at him, Reinhardt remarked, “Yes. I’ve lived in Chicago since I was a small boy, when my family first immigrated from Germany, and even now, the beauty that I’ve found here never ceases to amaze me.”

At that, Reinhardt turned and looked at McCree, almost lazily. McCree thought he saw something in Reinhardt’s expression, something fleeting, yet powerful, but Reinhardt turned away, leaving McCree to surmise that he must have imagined it. Even though he had known Reinhardt for less than a day, McCree had already gathered that Reinhardt had something of a flair for the dramatic. His words, his expressions, they were larger than life. Much like Reinhardt himself, McCree thought with a smirk.

They continued their casual stroll further into Chicago’s beating heart, with traffic passing next to them in the street. There was a gentle, rippling breeze that night that carried with it the aromas of the city. McCree could detect the usual scents one would expect to find in an urban environment. Exhaust, hints of garbage, a general metallic overtone. Underneath that though, were the subtle, yet pleasant scents. Sweet hints of black cherry trees. The spicy tang of food from street vendors. These smells made McCree think of the stark differences between Santa Fe and Chicago. Santa Fe was dusty, dull, never changing. Chicago was the opposite, full of vibrant life and change at every turn. He felt with every passing minute in Chicago as if the city itself was breathing new purpose into him, slowly cleaning out the darkness and shadows that clung to his past. He breathed deeply, enjoying this contentment.

Reinhardt noticed the slight change in McCree’s demeanor, and asked, “You seem as though a small weight has been lifted. What’s up?”

McCree smiled, replying, “Absolutely nothing at all. That’s the best part.”

Returning his smile, Reinhardt said, “Well, if you’re feeling like this now, just wait until you have had something to drink. The Iris is the best club this side of Chicago.”

When they reached The Iris a few minutes later, McCree thought the building was rather unassuming. For what was supposedly the best club this side of Chicago, McCree felt somewhat underwhelmed.

Not missing a beat, Reinhardt noticed this and gave him a wink. Then he knocked on the door. A muffled voice from the other side said, “Password?”

With confidence, Reinhardt said, “Gumdrop Palace.”

“Correct.”

There was the sound of a bolt unlatching and the door swung open. Standing in the entrance was a short Chinese woman with a friendly expression.

“Reinhardt! So glad to see you! It’s been some time since you’ve been to The Iris!”

Reinhardt gave the woman a hug, saying, “Yes, it has been a while. But I am here on a special occasion tonight. I’d like you to meet my new partner in the fight against crime, Jesse McCree.”

Tipping his hat, McCree said, “M’am. Nice to meet you.”

Mei gave him a smile, saying as she did, “Most of the people that come into The Iris are regulars, we don’t see new faces all that often. That being said, it always is a pleasure to see newcomers. Especially if they’re a friend of Reinhardt’s.”

Mei turned and went inside. McCree raised an eyebrow at Reinhardt, who merely shrugged. Shaking his head, McCree stepped through the entrance of The Iris, with Reinhardt close behind him.

This first door led into an antechamber where Mei was waiting, with another door on the far side. After Reinhardt closed the entrance door behind him, Mei opened the second door and motioned for the men to step in. McCree’s perception of The Iris changed completely as he walked into the main room.

There was dark wood paneling lining the walls, with almost medieval looking chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Jazz music emanated from the musicians’ platform in the back, while the air was permeated with a mixture of hazy smoke and the ranging conversations of the patrons.

Reinhardt walked past McCree and headed into a back corner of the room that already had a host of familiar faces. McCree saw Winston talking animatedly to two young women. Morrison was seated at a table drinking quietly with two other men. None of that party looked particularly cheerful. There were some others that McCree recognized from the police station, but whose names he did not know.

He followed Reinhardt to a booth in the corner, and sat across from him. It was a few minutes before a young waitress came over to take their order.

“You know Reinhardt, you really should stop in more. We’ve missed you.”

Reinhardt chuckled, and said, “Oh, Hana. I’ve simply had a lot on my plate recently, it’s a busy life being a senior detective. I take it your studies are going well? Torbjorn isn’t pushing you too hard, is he?”

Hana scoffed.

“Of course he is. Being a second year university student is hard enough, but under Torbjorn? It’s torture. I am learning a lot though, and I’m currently working on a project that I hope one day can be used by the police. You should stop in and visit me sometime.”

Reinhardt nodded, and said, “I’ll be sure to. Just so long as you aren’t getting too distracted.”

He gave a very pointed glance to the musician playing the saxophone, a young Latino man with long hair. Hana flushed deeply, and coughed.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Though McCree could tell Reinhardt was delighting in the anguish he was causing this poor girl, he was ready for a drink. Turning towards Hana, he said, “I’ll take a whiskey. On the rocks.”

Still with that amused expression on his face, Reinhardt said, “I’m feeling exotic today. How about a mojito?”

Hana looked as though she were about to throw something at him, before stalking off to get their drinks.

Reinhardt let out a low chuckle.

McCree turned to face him, and said, “Was that necessary? I take it that musician you indicated is Lucio?”

Reinhardt nodded, replying, “Yes. And it might seem cruel to you, but I’ve known Hana for a while now. It’s amusing to make her uncomfortable like that because literally everyone knows that she has a thing for Lucio. Except Lucio himself. He is completely oblivious, but Hana never takes the first step. Consider it some lighthearted prodding to encourage her.”

McCree shook his head in exasperation, but he was saved the necessity of replying by the interruption of Winston coming over with the two girls that he was talking to.

“Reinhardt! McCree! So glad to see you two here at The Iris! McCree, I’d like you to meet these two dear friends of mine, Lena and Emily! Reinhardt, you remember them don’t you?”

Reinhardt leaned back in his chair and said, “Yes, of course I do. I take it you are both doing well,” while McCree inclined his head politely and said, “Ma’am. Ma’am.”

Winston drew up the chairs from a nearby table and positioned them near their booth. After getting situated, he said, “Lena is a school teacher, and Emily here is a reporter for The Chicago Tribune. Tell him a bit about yourselves, girls.”

Lena giggled some, then she said in a quick, excited voice with a distinct English accent, “Not really much to say, loves. I’m a history teacher at Lake View High School, that’s really about it.”

Her companion rolled her eyes and said, “Oh Lena, please, don’t sell yourself short. Those students would be lost without you. My girlfriend is far too humble to admit it, but she acts as a beacon of guidance for those kids. Hana, you remember when you had Lena as a teacher?”

Hana had just come back to the table with McCree and Reinhardt’s drinks in hand. Both thanked her profusely, although that didn’t stop Hana from ignoring Reinhardt. She turned to Emily, and leaned against the edge of the booth.

“Ms. Oxton was always one of my favorite teachers. She was able to turn such mundane things as medieval Europe into something that was actually worth listening to. Ms. Oxton’s class is on the very short list of things that I did not blot out about my experience at Lake View.”

Lena smiled gratefully at Hana, and then turned towards her sweetheart.

“I appreciate the kind gestures, but there really isn’t much else to say about a high school history teacher, loves. It’s not the most exciting thing, certainly not like being a detective! Winston has told me and Emily some of the most fascinating stories about what life is like for you, Reinhardt! The investigations you’ve done, collaring ruffians, getting into fights and shooting! Oh, the shooting! I say, I’d like nothing more than to own a couple of flashy pistols!” She made finger guns to accentuate her point.

McCree and Reinhardt exchanged a glance before each took a swig from their respective drinks. As he stared down at the contents of his glass, McCree considered Ms. Oxton. She certainly seemed to have a romanticized view of what police work meant.

He sighed. “It’s not quite like that.”

“And then you get to wear those uniforms, and- sorry? What do you mean it’s not quite like that, love?”

McCree took another sip of his whiskey before responding. “It might seem glamorous, exciting, with the hints of danger all around you. When you first start off, and your cases are going well, it seems like nothing can go wrong. That you will conquer anything and everything around you. And then, things change. Your cases get tougher. Suddenly, you find yourself in situations where people around you are getting shot, people you care about. Sometimes, it’s people you don’t know, but who end up getting hurt because of your actions. It’s hard to maintain friendships and relationships with this going on. Eventually, you become a pariah of death, misery, and destruction. You’ve lost everything.”

He set his glass down, swirling it a bit.

Everyone else stared at him, trying to comprehend the hints of darkness that McCree had just conveyed. Reinhardt thought he knew the origin of this. There was something that had happened to McCree on his mission where he went undercover with the Deadlocks, something that had truly broken him as a person. He wondered if he would ever know what that was.

The silence dragged on uncomfortably for the next couple of minutes, interrupted only by the sounds of clanking glasses and the jazz music in the background. Eventually, Emily decided that enough time had passed in awkwardness, and she started talking about life as a reporter.

“Well, being a reporter has a lot of range to it. Some days are frightfully dull, others are wrapped in intrigue and mystery. Take the current story I'm working on, for example.”

McCree continued to stare down at his whiskey, Reinhardt was sipping his mojito and looking off into the distance, and Winston was getting increasingly inebriated with each bottle of beer he was going through. Only Lena looked at Emily encouragingly, urging her on.

Emily took a quick swallow of her beverage, a fine red wine, before she continued on.

“Yes, the story I've got right now is quite interesting. It's about corruption within Shimada Pharmaceutical.”

Such a simple statement generated an interesting reaction, with McCree peering up from his drink with renewed interest, Reinhardt turning to look intently at Emily, and Winston slipping off his seat in a semi-drunken stupor. Apart from all of that, there was another person that had a reaction.

A woman, sitting in the booth next to Reinhardt and McCree, shrouded in shadow, quietly put her drink down and listened with intensity to the conversation. What was this young reporter talking about? What information had she discovered about Shimada Pharmaceutical?

No one was aware of this woman's presence, so with everyone's attention focused on her, Emily continued on.

“Shimada Pharmaceutical has been at the center of some pretty shady attention over the last couple of years, with allegations that they have been cutting corners on regulations on their products, that they're selling low-grade versions of their latest drug Dragonfyre on the black market, hell, that they've even done unethical human testing. The rabbit hole runs very deep when it comes to the Shimada.”

She took another drink of her red wine, while McCree and Reinhardt exchanged a glance. Where had Emily gotten this information? Most of it was classified police intel, with the exception of allegations of human experiments. Not even Reinhardt, as much as he hated Shimada Pharmaceutical, would have thought that they would have gotten involved in something as dark as that.

McCree took the initiative, and asked Emily, “Where did you come across this information?”

She laughed, and said, “Oh, my dear detective McCree! A good journalist never reveals her sources!”

Unphased, McCree replied, “The Shimada Pharmaceutical company is dangerous. What if you got hurt? I doubt your girlfriend would be appreciative of that.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “I can take care of myself, Mr. McCree. I am not a helpless little girl, and I would never do anything in my work that would endanger Lena. She is the most important person in my life. Perhaps you, a detective with a frustrated background, and rampant paranoia, can't appreciate that. That being said, it's my job to tell the truth to the public and get them informed. If there's a danger to myself that comes along with that task, so be it. It's a small price to pay to ensure that justice is done, and people know what is happening in their world.”

Reinhardt coughed, and said, “Madam, please excuse my colleague. I do not think that he meant any disrespect to you, but you must understand where he is coming from. We've dealt with dangers like this for our entire careers. After some time, it's natural for us to see threats lurking around every corner, hiding in every shadow. And based on what little I know from McCree's history in Santa Fe, I do not think that I am wrong in stating that he has seen more of the darkness that humanity has to offer than the rest of us have combined. Do not judge him harshly because he has learned about caution the hard way.” He inclined his head toward McCree in a nod of respect.

McCree felt a sense of warm gratitude for Reinhardt's words. He was right, he had meant no disrespect towards Emily, but experience had taught him that it wasn't wise to make a stand against something unless you were prepared to fight back.

Emily had relaxed a little bit after Reinhardt said his piece. She resumed drinking her wine in silence, while Lena looked back and forth from the conversation's participants with mild concern. She knew that Emily could be a spitfire when she wanted to. It was one of the things that she loved the most about her. That being said, she felt as though she agreed more with McCree and Reinhardt on this particular topic. Shimada Pharmaceutical was dangerous, and Emily needed to understand that.

Unbeknownst to everyone, the woman in the next booth over had been listening to all of this unfold when she decided that she had heard enough. She paid for her drinks, and quietly left. Something would have to be done, she thought to herself. Shimada Pharmaceutical was not going to lie around waiting for this young upstart reporter to expose their operations. An example would have to be made.

Although, this reporter seemed like that she would not be the kind to respond to threats or intimidation. She would need to be dealt with. Permanently. Such a pity, the woman thought. It did sound like that reporter and her girlfriend were happy together. But, this was all just business. A sinister smile crossed her face, and she left The Iris.

Meanwhile, back at the booth where McCree and company were sitting, the night was starting to wind down. 

McCree paid for his two glasses of whiskey and stood up. “Well, it’s getting late. I will need to try and find a hotel for the night. Thank you all for such an enjoyable evening of discussion.” He inclined his head, letting his eyes drift lazily across each person sitting there in turn, before finally coming to rest on Reinhardt. That same flickering burn of desire blazed briefly, before he turned away. No, he would not put himself through this. It was good enough that he had made friends today in the form of both Winston and Reinhardt. He was not going to jeopardize that friendship by inclinations of romantic pursuit. 

He picked up his briefcase, and started to exit the booth. Winston stopped him, saying in a slightly slurred voice, “McCree! Wait! You’ll never be able to find a hotel at this time of night, at least not one with any sort of reputable reputation that’s good.”

McCree paused. “What would you recommend, Winston?”

With a mildly stupid grin caused by his inebriation, Winston said, “Come to my place! I’ve got a spare guest room. You can use that until you find a place of your own. Certainly would be cheaper than getting a hotel, that’s for sure.”

After seeing the state of Winston’s lab earlier in the day, McCree had some misgivings. However, he also wasn’t too much in the mood to go hunting for a hotel room and spending even more money. 

Somewhat reluctantly, McCree agreed. Winston exclaimed, “Splendid! Give me just a moment to pay my tab.”

At that point, everyone decided that it would be wise to head home as well, as everyone had a job which required an early start. Winston was somewhat unbalanced in his walk, so it was necessary for McCree and Reinhardt to lend him support. Winston said, “I do apologize, but I think I might have had just a bit much to drink, heh!” Lena and Emily led the way out back to the main entrance.

Reinhardt turned to McCree and asked, “Do you think you can hold onto him and keep him from doing anything rash? There’s a pay phone inside. I’ll call and get you two a cab.”

McCree replied, “Do you know where he lives?” By this point, Winston was on the verge of passing out, and would be no help in providing any information.

“Err, I think so.”

McCree raised his eyebrow. “You think so?”

“I know the general area where he lives! Shouldn’t be too hard to narrow it down from there!”

Reinhardt went back inside to make the call to the cab company.

McCree put the hand that was currently not struggling to support Winston over his face in exasperation. Lena and Emily were standing next to the street chatting. They seemed like they were quite close to Winston, and he expected that if anyone knew exactly where Winston lived, it would be the two of them. 

Gradually, he let Winston down to the ground as gently as he could, and called out to them. 

“Hey, Lena! Emily!”

They both turned to look at him, and walked closer. Lena smiled at McCree, whereas Emily looked at him with a look of disdain, no doubt because of the conversation earlier.

Lena said, “What is it, love? It about Winston? I do apologize for the state of him, he thinks he can manage his liquor intake better than he can, and he usually ends up right tossed.”

McCree replied, “Oh, no need to apologize. It was very kind of Winston to offer me a place to stay for the night, even though he is definitely inebriated. In fact, it’s about that which I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh? And what’s that, love?”

With a slight amount of embarrassment, he said, “Well, Reinhardt just went back inside to call a cab, and he didn’t seem overly confident about knowing where Winston actually lived beyond more than a general area.”

Lena laughed, and said, “Oh! It’s no trouble love, no trouble at all. Winston lives in an apartment complex on State Street called Vista Reflections. It’s pretty well known, your cab driver should be able to find it without too much fuss. Oh, and Winston lives on the third floor, apartment 304.”

McCree looked at Lena gratefully. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. I really appreciate it.”

She laughed again, saying, “Oh, don’t worry about it, love.”

He paused, hesitating if he should say what was on his mind.

“Lena, I know that we just met, so I hope this won’t sound too awkward. Does Emily hate me, after what I said in the club?”

Lena considered him a moment, clearly thinking about her response. She slowly shook her head, and she said, “No, she doesn’t hate you. Your statements about the dangers of investigation I think hit a little more deeply with her than she would like to admit. Emily has always gone through her life trying to prove herself to people, on account of what her family’s like. It’s one of the things I love about her, she’s very driven and passionate about her interests and beliefs in right and wrong. That being said, she can be extremely stubborn. I think all that you did was strike a nerve by potentially implying that she couldn’t take care of herself, or protect me, love. And being presented with information like that, it’s hard for her to accept that it might be based in reality, that’s all.”

McCree nodded, starting to understand where Emily was coming from.

“You see, Emily reminds me a lot of someone that I knew once. She’s just as driven, just as determined to see justice done in the world. And that kind of drive can be dangerous, in ways that neither of you can understand. Just keep that in mind, will you?”

Lena touched McCree’s arm gently. “I will.”

At that moment, Reinhardt reappeared from within The Iris, and called out in his deep voice, “I’ve just ordered the cab for you and Winston. It should be here in about fifteen minutes. Lena, my dear, it was wonderful to see you and Emily again. We all really should meet up here more often. It is a great boost of comradery!” 

Lena grinned. “Yes love, naturally I agree. Anyway, Emily and I should start making our way home. Good night Reinhardt! Good night McCree! Winston, will you be alright?”

A low groan emanated from Winston in response.

Lena turned around, waved, and rejoined Emily. The two of them started walking, hand in hand.

None of them knew that at that moment, the mysterious woman who had overheard their conversation in The Iris was lying prone on a nearby rooftop, with a rifle in front of her. She had been watching the proceedings through her scope, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

As the young women turned a corner and were out of sight of the three men, the sniper’s finger tensed on the trigger. She had a clear shot at the reporter, just about ready to fire, when she reconsidered. This reporter could be dealt with in one swoop, but there was always the risk of some other reporter stepping in. No, in order to stop this reporter from going any further with her findings, she would need to lose something dear to her. With this thought in mind, the sniper changed her target instead to the woman the reporter was walking hand in hand with, laughing and joyous, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

The sniper took a deep breath. Then fired.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 was very difficult for me to write because it brought on the challenge of dialogue between multiple characters at once, and it's the chapter that details things to come in the future. Ending the chapter on the cliffhanger was hard for me to do, but it felt like the right thing to do. This is the point in the story, where after the general lulls of chapters 1 and 2, things need to pick up, and this seemed like the best way of going about it. Never fear! I am at work on Chapter 4, and it should be finished before the end of the month *fingers crossed*. Thanks again to everyone for taking the time to read this fic, it really does mean a lot to me. :)
> 
> Update 01/31/2018: So, just to keep people informed, I am working on Chapter 4! It should be finished this weekend, and then I'll get it onto my beta readers to look it over. Should be up here next week. It honestly should have been up sooner this month, but my weekends this month (which is really the only time I get to write) have been nothing short of chaotic. Thank you everyone for all of your patience! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena gets shot by the mysterious sniper and collapses to the ground. McCree, Reinhardt, and Winston rush to her aid. McCree discovers the dart that was shot by the sniper. Before he and Reinhardt can more thoroughly investigate the scene, Morrison arrives with Reyes and Fawkes. There is a small altercation between Reinhardt and Reyes, and then Reinhardt and McCree head back to the station to drop off the dart McCree found as evidence. Afterwards, Reinhardt offers to split the rent of his apartment with McCree. McCree agrees, and the pair depart to Reinhardt's apartment, exhausted by the day's events.

Chapter 4

 

The projectile from the rifle raced toward its target, until it struck Lena in the neck. To her it felt like the sting of an insect, and she proclaimed, “Ow!”

Emily turned to look at her and said, “Is something wrong?”

Lena smiled and shook her head, “No, love. I think I was just stung by a bee, nothing else.”

Emily appeared concerned. “You aren’t allergic, are you?”

“No, not as far as I’m aware.”

Emily nodded, and they continued walking along, arm in arm. After a few minutes though, it was apparent that something was wrong. Lena started breathing heavily, and her movements were becoming less coordinated.

Leaning on Emily for support, she said, “Woo! I guess those drinks are starting to catch up with me. I just, just need to rest for a bit. Yes, that’s it.” Then, Lena slipped out of Emily’s grasp entirely, slumping to the ground, convulsing.

Emily screamed, shouting Lena’s name.

“Lena! Lena! Quick, someone help! ANYONE, PLEASE HELP! LENA!”

 

* * *

 

Back at The Iris, McCree, Reinhardt and Winston were getting in some last minute thoughts when the cab for McCree and Winston arrived.

“Well, I guess we’ll be heading out then,” McCree said.

Reinhardt smiled, and in his booming voice said, “Indeed! I shall see you tomorrow, my friend. And keep on eye on Winston? I get the feeling Morrison would be pretty upset if his CSI came in all hungover!”

They shook hands firmly, and McCree followed Winston into the cab’s backseat, Reinhardt heading off down the street in the opposite direction. Just as McCree was about to close the door and tell the driver where Winston lived, the sound of a woman’s scream reverberated through the night. Reinhardt stopped and looked back at McCree, the both of them exchanging a wordless communication, verifying that both had actually heard the scream. The scream sounded again, coming in the direction that Lena and Emily were walking along earlier.

McCree threw open the door of the car, and with Reinhardt at his side, they raced down the street. Turning the corner, they saw Emily sitting against the wall of a building, cradling Lena in her arms. An icy chill ran through McCree’s veins, as he dashed forward, fearing the worst.

When he stopped in front of her, Emily raised her head, her face streaked with tears.

She said, “I don’t know what happened, we were just walking along, and Lena was fine, and then she collapsed! Oh, _no_!”

McCree looked at Reinhardt, and there was deep concern in the older man’s eyes. Neither one of them knew anything about medical care for a situation like this. McCree knew that Lena would not have long to live if nothing was done, so he turned to Winston.

“Winston!” He called out his friend in an authoritative tone.

Winston stared at him, and McCree pressed on.

“Winston, listen to me! Go back to The Iris, get on the phone and get an ambulance down here! NOW!”

Winston stumbled before turning around, and he ran back towards the club. McCree turned towards Reinhardt, and said, gently, “Reinhardt. Can you see if Lena has a pulse? Is she breathing?”

Reinhardt nodded and knelt down next to Emily and Lena. Carefully, he put his ear near Lena’s mouth and nose, listening for any sounds of air. It was very faint, but he could hear Lena’s ragged breaths. He next put his fingers on her wrist and tested for her pulse. Like her breathing, it was faint, but it was there.

Giving a sigh of immense relief, he turned his head toward McCree.

“She has a pulse, and she’s breathing, but it’s very ragged and short. I don’t know how long she can last without getting to a hospital, and quickly.”

McCree’s expression darkened with the urgency of the situation. Slowly, he nodded. There wasn’t much that they could do until Winston came back with help.

“Reinhardt, I want you to keep Lena’s chest elevated, and her head back. Ease her breathing as much as you possibly can.”

Reinhardt blinked in understanding, and did as McCree said. Satisfied that Lena would be bought a few precious minutes, McCree turned his attention to Emily, who was quietly sobbing on the ground, her hand clutching Lena's tightly.

McCree knelt down on the ground, and looked Emily in the face. Through the fear and distress that was currently there, he saw a shade of the defiance he glimpsed earlier in the club. McCree knew that he needed to find out exactly what had happened, otherwise there would not be a chance to save Lena. This in mind, McCree steeled himself and told Emily, “I know this is hard for you, but you need to tell me exactly what happened. Please, start from the beginning, after you and Lena turned the corner and left us at the entrance to The Iris.”

Emily gulped down a sob, and then replied in a choked, but clear voice, “After we left you and the others, we started walking to where we live. It’s not that far from here, you see. We were talking and chatting. Laughing. Then, Lena said that she felt like she had been stung by a bee or some other insect. I asked her if she was allergic, but she said that she wasn’t. A few minutes later, she said she wasn’t feeling well, and it wasn’t long after that she collapsed on the ground. I’m such a fool, she never wants to worry me, I should have realized that she was allergic!”

With this, Emily broke down into fresh tears. McCree wasn’t convinced that Lena was allergic, though. He had a feeling that there was something much more sinister at play here than just a random insect sting. He looked back down the street that Emily and Lena had been walking, then back to Emily.

Stroking his beard, he asked Emily, “About where was it that Lena thought she was stung?”

Emily momentarily broke off her crying. “What,” she said.

McCree replied, “I said, where was it that Lena thought she was stung.”

Emily pointed a little bit down the street.

“It was there, right after that stop sign.”

McCree got up off the ground, and walked to where Emily indicated. He started looking at the ground, when something shiny and metallic caught his eye, about two yards from the stop sign. He knelt down for a closer look.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, back at The Iris, Winston was hurriedly trying to reach the payphone and call in an ambulance. He banged on the front door, and Mei responded, “Password?”

Now, normally, Winston was a very soft-spoken and light-hearted individual. However, due to a combination of the excess in alcohol he had partaken, and the urgency of the situation, that was not how he reacted to Mei.

“Goddammit Mei, I don’t have time for this shit! Someone’s been hurt, and I need to use the payphone to get help! Now open the fucking door!”

The door opened, but it wasn’t Mei behind the entrance. It was instead Chief Morrison and his estranged husband Gabriel Reyes, and Reyes’ partner in the Roadhogs, Jamison Fawkes. Mei was standing off to the side in the small entrance room, eyes darting back and forth between everyone.

Morrison was the first to speak, saying, “Winston! That is no way to talk to this honorable woman! What the hell is wrong with you!”

Winston replied in exasperation, “Sir, I’m sorry! I mean no disrespect to Madam Mei, you know that! But this is an emergency! A friend of mine, Lena Oxton, she’s been hurt! She’s down the street to the left, about a half mile from here. She’s with her girlfriend Emily, and Reinhardt and McCree sir! She looked like she might have been having a seizure! Sir, please. Let me through so I can call an ambulance!”

Morrison’s expression of anger slowly changed into one of concern as he considered Winston’s words, while Reyes looked mildly disconcerted. This was in sharp contrast to Jamison Fawkes, who looked completely at ease despite the news that someone may in fact be dying. He was leaning against the wall, his leather gang jacket catching the moonlight. His blonde hair gave the illusion that it was burning at the tips. His face betrayed an expression of boredom with the proceedings.

Due to his drunkenness, Winston didn’t put a lot of thought into Jamison’s reaction, but it did strike him as odd that he didn’t seem to care at all. Regardless of what Winston thought though, this gathering was interrupted by the cab driver that Reinhardt had called earlier.

“Oi! You bastards going somewhere or not? I’ve got other fares I could be getting you know!”

It took a moment for the possibility to hit Winston. They wouldn’t need to get an ambulance. By shear luck, they already had transportation waiting. Winston ran towards the cab, and threw himself into the backseat.

The cab driver turned around to face him and said, “Bout fucking time! Now that you’ve decided to grace me with your presence, where the hell you wan-”

Winston cut him off angrily, and said, “Shut the fuck up! There’s a woman dying down the street about half a mile forward! She needs to get to the nearest hospital now! DRIVE!”

The driver looked as though he was going to argue, but he quelled under the furious gaze of Winston. It didn’t happen often, but when Winston got sufficiently angry, people said that he resembled a wild raging gorilla. This thought also struck the cab driver, and he decided that it would be best to listen to Winston. He put his cab into gear and started driving towards where Lena, Emily, Reinhardt, and McCree were.

Morrison’s group was left somewhat stunned by the scene they had just witnessed. Reyes was the first to speak, in a low and cautious tone, “What the hell was that all about?”

Morrison responded, with a shake of his head, “I don’t know. But if someone has been hurt, we should take a look into it.”

Reyes agreed with a nod. Fawkes lit a cigarette and shrugged nonchalantly.

Morrison threw Fawkes a dirty look, which was ignored.

The three of them started making their way to where Winston had indicated Lena was.

 

* * *

 

In less than two minutes, Winston and the cab driver arrived on the scene. Winston threw open the door, and ran towards the group clustered around Lena. He shouted, “McCree! Reinhardt! Help me get Lena into the cab!”

McCree and Reinhardt turned to look at him.

“Winston? Where’s the ambulance?” McCree said.

“There wasn’t any time to get one, our cab was still there, so I thought this would be better!”

Reinhardt nodded, and he and Winston took Lena carefully into the cab. Emily got up to join them. McCree turned to her and started to say, “Emily-” but she cut him off.

“McCree, I don’t want to hear it. My girlfriend’s life is in danger, and if you seriously think that I won’t be going to the hospital with her, you are sorely mistaken.” With that, Emily got in the back seat and kept Lena elevated so that her breathing was not impacted.

Winston said, “Listen, I think I had better go with them, just to keep an eye on the situation. I’m sorry McCree, but you’ll have to find lodging elsewhere for tonight.” He gave McCree an apologetic look.

McCree nodded and said, “I understand. Go. Get to the hospital, quickly!”

Winston climbed into the front passenger seat of the cab, and they sped off. McCree stared after them, thinking to himself, _I hope they make it in time_. Once the cab was out of sight, he turned back towards Reinhardt.

“Well, this has certainly been a hell of a first day here. It always like this in this city?”

Reinhardt sighed.

“More than you know. Chicago’s always had the places you should avoid if it’s night and you’re traveling alone, but this area in particular has always been relatively safe. Until now. Things have honestly been taking a turn for the worse since Shimada Pharmaceutical started gaining more traction. We haven’t proved it yet, but I’m sure that they are deeply involved with the gangs here. By the way, what was that thing that you picked up off the ground earlier?”

McCree reached into his pocket, and brought out the small metallic object he had retrieved near where Emily said Lena felt like she’d been stung. Reinhardt leaned in for a closer look.

“It looks like a dart, but a more complex dart than I’ve ever seen. Yet, it seems familiar to me. I wonder...”

Suddenly, a look of comprehension dawned on Reinhardt’s face.

“No, that can’t be it, there’s no way he’s involved...”

McCree cocked his head with a perplexed expression, and he was about to ask Reinhardt what he meant, when he heard his name from afar. Turning, he saw Morrison and the two men who had been with him in The Iris. Reinhardt’s expression darkened as he gazed at Reyes, who was standing nearer to Morrison.

Morrison said, “McCree! We heard from Winston that a woman was in trouble! What happened? Where is she?”

McCree replied, “You’re too late, sir. The woman, Lena Oxton, is already on her way to the nearest hospital. Her girlfriend is with her, and Winston as well. Reinhardt and I were investigating the scene when you came by.”

Morrison looked at McCree with steely eyes.

“And? Did you find anything?”

“Yes. Lena’s girlfriend, Emily, said that Lena thought she had been stung by something. I took a look around the area where Emily thought they were at the time. And, I found this.”

He presented the dart to Morrison. Morrison examined it closely.

Finally, after a few minutes of observation, he said, “This looks like a tranquilizer dart, but much more complex. McCree, are you implying that this Lena woman was attacked?”

McCree nodded.

“Yes sir, I am. And based on the reaction that Lena had afterwards, this was an attack meant to be fatal. Lena was still breathing by the time that Winston arrived and they left for the hospital. I can only hope that they are able to counteract whatever poison she was injected with.”

Morrison scratched his chin, his eyebrows furrowed as he thought about the situation. While he was thinking, Reyes noticed that Reinhardt was glaring at him.

Reyes said in a sneering tone, “What do you want?”

Reinhardt shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know. Maybe the company of someone that is not notoriously untrustworthy. You shouldn't even be here, as this is a crime scene. Unless of course you were responsible for what happened tonight, Reyes.”

Reyes returned Reinhardt's glare with one of his own.

“The Roadhogs are in a special arrangement with the police to provide information on the underworld of this stinking city. I'd have thought you'd have known that, Wilhelm. Although, you might be too busy fucking up cases in court to notice.”

Reinhardt bristled and took a step forward. McCree caught this, and put his arm out in front of Reinhardt, giving Reinhardt a warning glance. He didn't know the origin of the tension between Reinhardt and Reyes, but now was not the time to get into it. Especially not right in front of the chief of police. Who, he knew from Winston, was in some kind of relationship with Reyes. An altercation at this juncture would be counterproductive, to say the least.

The exchange between Reinhardt and Reyes did not go unnoticed by Morrison, who gave an exhausted sigh.

“That's enough. Gabriel, Reinhardt is right. This is now a crime scene, and you and Mr. Fawkes do not have any clearance to be here. No, not even in my presence,” he said sternly, as Reyes was about to angrily retort.

“And Reinhardt, I don't want to hear you talking about Gabriel like this again. I know that there is bad blood between the two of you, but keep it in your head that he is still my husband. I expect you to give him the same amount of respect that you give me. Even though our relationship is...strained at the moment.” Morrison threw a quick glance at Reyes, who turned away.

Reinhardt turned his head down.

“I'm sorry, sir. You know I don't mean to disrespect you. But him-”

“He is my husband, and my personal matters are mine to deal with, no one else's. Is that understood?”

Begrudgingly, Reinhardt nodded.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

Satisfied, Morrison turned back to McCree.

“Alright, do you have any indication where this attack might have come from, McCree?”

McCree looked at the buildings across the street. Any one of them could have offered the sniper a good vantage point to strike. But this sniper wasn't just looking for a good vantage point, they were looking for the best vantage point. A building which would have been tall enough to offer a good line of sight for a target on their side of the street, but would have also provided enough cover so that they were not easily spotted.

Gazing at each of the buildings in turn, he settled on a six-story office that was flanked by taller structures on both sides. Putting himself in the sniper's shoes, this is the building that he would have chosen. McCree turned back towards Morrison.

“I believe this dart was fired by a low power rifle from the roof of that office building over there. It would have offered the perfect vantage point, providing an excellent view of this side of the street without being too exposed.”

Morrison nodded, before replying, “Well, your old chief in Santa Fe wasn't wrong. You certainly have quite the analytical eye, McCree.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Morrison observed the building before continuing, “Now, since this is a private establishment, the roof will be off-limits unless we have a warrant. I'll get to work on getting one obtained so we can investigate this further, but that might take some time. In the meantime, McCree, Reinhardt, I want the two of you to go back to the station, and put this dart in evidence lockup. Winston will need to examine it when he gets back from the hospital.”

Reinhardt and McCree conveyed their understanding, and started making their way back to the station. Reinhardt threw an extremely dirty look at Reyes over his shoulder. McCree was more interested in Jamison Fawkes' reaction than anything else. He appeared almost bored with the proceedings of the night, almost as if he was utterly unsurprised by the events that unfolded. McCree narrowed his eyes as he took note of Fawkes' tall appearance, and his blond hair that looked almost as though it were on fire. He didn't trust him. And people that McCree didn't trust fell under his careful observation.

Once they were well out of earshot of Morrison, Reinhardt started grumbling.

“Hmmph! That bastard, Reyes! I can't believe Morrison still trusts him, after everything that he's done!”

McCree turned to his companion, and raised an eyebrow.

“What is it exactly that Reyes did that has caused him to earn your ire?”

Reinhardt looked at McCree with an angry look in his gray eyes. McCree made a mental note that he would not want to be on the wrong side of Reinhardt. Reinhardt was intimidating enough with his immense proportions, to be the focus of the anger that was currently present in his expression would be beyond terrifying.

Reinhardt let out a snort before he spoke, but he did relax slightly.

“Gabriel Reyes was an officer several years ago. He was working undercover in the Roadhogs, trying to gain information on their operations in the city. He and Morrison were recently married. Our chief at the time asked Reyes to take on this undercover mission due to his familiarity with gang patterns and workings. Reyes accepted, even though Morrison did not want him to. He worked within the gang for months, feeding intel to the police. Everything seemed alright. Until, one day, there was a hit. Two CPD officers that were part of the intel analysis aspect of the operation, officers Montoya and Worthington, were coming back to the station after taking their lunch break at a nearby cafe. The Roadhogs staged a hit and run that got both of them killed. Suspicions fell upon Reyes, as he was the only one that could have known what was going on with both of the operations of the Roadhogs and the police. Morrison was devastated. There was a trial. Reyes swore that he didn’t have anything to do with it, but it didn’t stop him from serving time. He spent two years in the state penitentiary for criminal negligence of sensitive and classified information. And then, after he was released, he drifted back into the Roadhogs gang and rose to the top of the hierarchy. So, despite everything that had happened, despite the deaths that Reyes caused on the police force, Morrison saw an opportunity, and established a deal with him that basically put the Roadhogs as the primary contact for the police for the gross underworld of this city. That’s where things currently stand right now. I don’t trust Reyes, and neither does Morrison, even if he doesn’t show it. He won’t say it, but I am fairly certain, that like me, he thinks on some level that Reyes was responsible for those officers’ deaths. But at the same time, he is conflicted, because I don’t doubt that he still loves him. Jack Morrison was one of the few people that could actually tolerate Gabriel Reyes at all.”

Reinhardt finished his story, his eyes staring off into the distance, brooding.

McCree had listened to all of this in a stunned silence. He reflected on all that Reinhardt had just told him. The pieces fit, everything coming together from the initial hints and information that he was able to get out of Winston earlier that day.

They walked on in silence until they returned to the police station. McCree tried to open the door and found that it was locked. He wasn’t entirely surprised, given that it was well past the normal operating hours for the station.

“Locked. Damn. How are we going to get in to put this dart in the evidence lockup?”

Reinhardt started fishing in his pocket, looking for something.

“Not to worry, my friend. I sometimes stay late to work on cases, so Morrison gave me a spare key. Ah, there’s the little schlingel!”

Reinhardt withdrew a rather beat-up looking key from his pocket, presenting it to McCree.

McCree whistled. “Now ain’t that handy.”

Reinhardt flashed him a quick grin and inserted it into the lock. It fit, allowing Reinhardt to turn it smoothly and open the door with a creak.

The duo walked through the entrance, with McCree hitting the light switch for illumination. He paused, trying to recall where the evidence lockup room was from when Winston’s tour. Reinhardt was ahead of him, pointing it out straight away.

“The Evidence Room is on the back part of this floor. Come on.”

McCree followed Reinhardt, and when they reached the Evidence Room, he noticed that the door was barred by a combination lock. Turning to his partner, he said, “I don’t suppose you know the combination as well? I could shoot the lock, but somehow I think that that wouldn’t be viewed in the highest favor with Morrison.”

Reinhardt chuckled softly, a sound reminiscent of a warm, crackling fire. Without saying another word, he walked up to the door and turned the dial of the lock a few times in alternating directions. After a few seconds, there was a subtle click as the door unlocked.

Reinhardt gestured for McCree to go in first.

Walking into the room beyond, McCree saw many shelves and boxes, all containing the crucial evidence for past cases. These ranged from simple thefts to murders. On one of the shelves that was closer to the door, he noticed a series of boxes entitled, “Shimada Pharmaceutical Investigation February 1924 – Evidence gathered by: Hanzo Shimada; Reinhardt Wilhelm.” McCree glanced back at Reinhardt, who had been following McCree’s examination of the items in the room. Reinhardt nodded stiffly, a look of mixed sadness and anger mottling his expression.

“Yes. Those boxes contain the evidence that Hanzo and I were gathering to try and bring his family’s company to trial. They contain many hard-earned triumphs, and also marked failure.”

McCree knew that Reinhardt was referring to the evidence that he had gotten illicitly, the evidence that was not admissible in court, the evidence that had gotten the whole case thrown out and sent Reinhardt on his spiral of despair. He turned away from the boxes, and walked towards a desk on the wall, with everything that was needed for the labeling and filing of evidence. Much as McCree was curious about the evidence that Reinhardt had obtained that had destroyed the case the first time around, he knew that now was not the time to address it. Reinhardt would tell him when he was ready.

He sat down at the desk, and carefully pulled the dart, which he had had the foresight to wrap in his handkerchief, out of his pocket. He opened a small paper envelope and dropped the dart inside, sealing it at the top. For the labeling information, he listed the case as unknown, but possibly tied to the current Shimada Pharmaceutical investigation. Reinhardt noticed this, and asked McCree about it.

“How come you’ve listed that this is tied into the Shimada Pharmaceutical case?”

McCree paused, taking a second to gather his thoughts.

“Call it a hunch, but I’d be willing to bet that whoever fired this dart at Lena is connected to the Shimada somehow. It’s too improbable otherwise. All of us are sitting and chatting, discussing the Shimada, and Lena just gets randomly attacked by a sniper that’s clearly going for a professional assassination attempt? It doesn’t make any sense.”

McCree sealed the envelope, noting on it that it needed to be delivered to Winston as soon as possible for analysis. There were too boxes on the desk, one marked “In Progress Investigation,” and the other “Archival.” McCree deposited the envelope into the former.

He got up from the desk and started walking out of the Evidence Room. Reinhardt followed him, closing the door behind him and spinning the dial on the combination lock randomly to re-lock it securely.

After dropping off his briefcase in his and Reinhardt’s office, McCree realized how tired he was as a wave of exhaustion hit him, and he was reminded that he did not have accommodations to spend the night. He yawned and stretched his arms, contemplating his options.

This did not pass Reinhardt by, as he asked, “Are you alright, McCree? You look very tired, no offense.”

McCree laughed dryly.

“For my first day, there was a lot more excitement than I would have expected. But yes, I am exhausted.”

Reinhardt opened his mouth, and closed it again, clearly with something on his mind that he wanted to say. But, he was hesitating. Finally, he coughed, and said, “I know that you were supposed to spend the night with Winston, and you would look for an apartment tomorrow, but that’s obviously fallen through. There’s no knowing when Winston will get back from the hospital, because I expect that he is going to want to stay with Emily and Lena until their situation is...confirmed.”

McCree knew what Reinhardt meant. Until Winston was able to analyze the dart, there was no telling what it was dosed with. Because of that, there was no way of knowing if Lena even had a chance of surviving the night.

Reinhardt coughed again.

“Anyway, I’ve been thinking, why don’t you come live with me? I’ve got a spare bedroom, and rent is awful in this city. Trying to find a reasonable apartment around here would be nearly impossible. What do you say? You interested in being my flatmate, McCree?”

McCree stopped, thinking about the events of the day. He had only known Reinhardt for less than twenty hours, and already the man was offering to share his apartment with him. McCree felt conflicted. Reinhardt’s offer was platonic, just on the notion of splitting rent and helping a new friend out, he understood that. However, he also knew that sharing an apartment would make it even more difficult for him to hide his feelings for the man before him. McCree’s mind was at war with itself. In the end, the tired, exhausted side of his brain won out with a decisive, _Fuck it_.

Slowly, McCree nodded in agreement.

“Sure. Just as long as you don’t have any bad roommate habits. I will end you if your apartment is filthy.”

Reinhardt’s eyes lit up, and he chuckled again.

“My friend, I’m glad you said that. That was one of my concerns, was that you would be a total slob! Not to worry. I keep a, mostly, tidy home. Come, my bike is out back.”

McCree raised an eyebrow.

“You ride a motorcycle?”

Reinhardt’s expression furrowed.

“Yes, I am rather fond of them. The wind whipping through my hair, the hint of danger! It’s glorious! I take it you’re not comfortable with them?”

McCree shook his head.

“No, I’ve just never meant anyone else since being in the Deadlock Gang that appreciated those two-wheeled beauties. They weren’t very popular at the Santa Fe police department, but I was always the rebel. I rode one in to work every day, churning the dust behind me. It was one of the things that granted me some favor with the Deadlocks, as they ALL rode bikes.”

“Ah. In that case, I think you’ll quite enjoy the ride I’ll give you! My Indian Chief is my pride and joy in this world. I love that motorcycle.”

With his characteristic enthusiasm, Reinhardt walked briskly to the back of the police station, to the parking lot outside. McCree followed behind, his thoughts a raging storm of conflict and fantasy.

All of McCree’s turmoil vanished the instant he saw the Chief, though.

His jaw dropped as he took in the sleek polished styling of the bike, which had distinctive black and gray accents. Reinhardt leaned against it, his pride plastered across his face. It was a rare two-seater design, which McCree guessed was to give Reinhardt some additional room, given his hulking frame. Apart from the seats, there was an extra platform on the rear fender, which McCree surmised would be where he sat.

Reinhardt hoisted his legs over either side, putting on a helmet as he did so. He pulled a second helmet out of one of the side storage bags on the motorcycle and handed it to McCree. McCree strapped it on, before mounting the bike himself and sliding his arms around Reinhardt’s middle for stability. He leaned in, and caught a whiff of Reinhardt’s scent, a musky, spicy smell that made McCree think of woodfires and forested mountainsides. The smell was even more intoxicating than the booze he had enjoyed earlier. Despite the conflict in his mind, he couldn’t help smiling to himself under his helmet as he drank in the aroma. He vaguely thought that his tiredness was probably to blame for him not keeping himself in check, but he was so exhausted he didn’t care. He would allow himself this secret pleasure for tonight, and then tomorrow all would go back to a professional demeanor and interaction with the man his arms encircled.

This was all unnoticed by Reinhardt who was doing a pre-start check. After he determined that everything looked normal, he glanced over his shoulder at McCree and asked him if he was ready.

Upon catching Reinhardt’s eye, McCree started blushing furiously, but didn’t matter as his helmet did a thorough job of covering his face and head. McCree nodded, and Reinhardt started the engine.

The bike roared with power as it came to life, and Reinhardt peeled out of the parking lot, putting on speed as he made his way towards his apartment. The rest of the night passed in a hazy blur for McCree, his thoughts preoccupied with the rush of being on a bike again after so long, the power of the motorcycle reverberating through him, his secure hold on the man who echoed the power of the motorcycle with his sinewy, muscular frame. It was bliss, and McCree wished that he could take a snapshot of the moment, and hold onto it forever.

Before long, they arrived at Reinhardt’s apartment. McCree saw vague flashes, apartment numbers on doors sliding in and out of view, until they arrived at the one that belonged to Reinhardt. Reinhardt helped McCree in, giving him support with his arm as he led him to the spare bedroom. McCree flopped down on the bed, hearing Reinhardt wish him good night. He knew sleep was seconds away, and the world around him was fading as Reinhardt closed the door behind him. Right before he lost consciousness, McCree thought he heard an exasperated, frustrated sigh. Then all was lost to him as he promptly fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, let me say that I am very sorry that this was delayed so long! Sometimes life gets in the way of plans...and release dates. However, I think I've made up for it by this chapter being significantly longer than the chapters that came before it. Thanks again everyone for being so patient with the development of Deadlock Noir! I'll be getting started on Chapter 5 this weekend, and hopefully get that pushed out to you guys by the second week of March!
> 
> Oh, and 'schlingel' is the German word for 'rascal.'
> 
> Update 03/18/2018 - Hey everyone! I know I said that I would be getting Chapter 5 done by the end of this past week... Life, as usual, tends to get in the way of the goals I set for myself. That being said, Chapter 5 is really close to being finished, and should definitely be up here on AO3 this week. Thanks again to everyone for sticking with me and the journey of this fic! You guys are the best. Also, this is now over 500 total hits. I can't believe that at all. Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a few days since Lena was attacked. Reinhardt and McCree receive confirmation from Morrison to investigate the crime scene more thoroughly. The pair find a couple of clues that narrow down the list of suspects to a likely category of people. Winston has discovered that the dart McCree recovered from the scene initially has confirmed ties to the Shimada, as well as to one of Reinhardt's friends, Professor Torbjorn Lindholm. Reinhardt and McCree go to question Torbjorn, where they realize that this case is much murkier than they first thought.

Chapter 5

 

It had been a few days since Lena was hospitalized. McCree and Reinhardt were sitting in their office, waiting for an update not only on Lena’s status but also on whether or not they would be able to conduct an investigation of the rooftop that McCree thought was the likely sniper perch. The wait was agonizing, with little to do in the meantime, other than McCree had taken this time to get settled into Reinhardt’s apartment, and their status as roommates was now well known throughout the station.

They were both drinking coffee and looking through the older clues of the Shimada investigation when the intercom paged. Reinhardt shot a quick glance at McCree before answering. McCree nodded. Reinhardt hit the button on the intercom, and the smooth voice of Satya Vaswani, Morrison’s secretary, sounded through.

“Reinhardt? Are you there?”

Reinhardt replied, “Yes. McCree and I are both here. Does Morrison have an update for us?”

“Yes. He’s expecting you right now. He’s insisting that you both go and see him immediately.”

Reinhardt sighed.

“Thank you, Ms. Vaswani. We’ll be at his office shortly.”

There was a click as the intercom disconnected.

McCree took a final swig of his coffee before standing up, stretching. His coat shifted slightly, revealing his Peacekeeper revolver in its new home, a holster that McCree had bought. He didn’t want to have to carry his briefcase around with him all the time, and thought it prudent to have Peacekeeper with him in a more conventional method. His briefcase was now with the rest of his belongings, sitting in his room at Reinhardt’s apartment.

Reinhardt made to follow McCree up, and the both of them walked out into the hallway. Reinhardt asked McCree, “What do you think Morrison will have for us?”

McCree shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know. Hopefully some good news about Lena, and where we stand on investigating that building. You noticed Winston hasn’t been to work at all the last few days?”

Reinhardt nodded as the pair started making their way up the central staircase. Morrison’s office was located on the second floor of the police station, one of the few rooms up there. They saw Ms. Vaswani, a young, petite Indian woman sitting at a desk outside Morrison’s door. As the two of them approached, Ms. Vaswani looked up from her typewriter, and peered at them through her half-moon spectacles with a slightly haughty expression. She nodded to the door next to her desk.

“He’s right through there.”

McCree and Reinhardt both nodded and thanked her, and then proceeded on into Morrison’s office itself. Upon stepping through the threshold, they saw the Chief sitting at his desk with a stern and serious look on his face. To their surprise, Winston was sitting in a chair close to Morrison’s desk.

McCree noticed that Winston looked absolutely exhausted, with disheveled clothing, and a scruffy face. Given the events that had transpired over the last few days, McCree was not at all surprised by Winston’s current appearance.

Winston turned around and looked at McCree and Reinhardt through red, tired eyes. He nodded briefly, before letting his head droop down as he sipped his coffee. Morrison stood up from his desk and rested his hands on the surface, peering at the new arrivals intensely.

“McCree. Reinhardt. Thank you for coming up so promptly. There have been some interesting developments in this case.”

He gestured for the two of them to take some of the additional seats he had in front of his desk, with McCree slipping into one easily. Reinhardt had a bit more difficulty, but was eventually able to wedge himself in uncomfortably.

When they were all settled, Morrison sat back down in his own seat.

Anxious to know what was going on, McCree asked him, “Sir? Is there word on Ms. Oxton? What about the warrant for the building I pointed out?”

Morrison paused gravely, making McCree fear for the worst, but then he responded.

“Ms. Oxton is alive,” with this McCree let out a sigh of relief, and Reinhardt’s expression relaxed somewhat. Winston remained focused on his coffee, with no change in his demeanor.

Morrison resumed. “She’s alive, but- she’s in a coma. Unresponsive. It turns out that she is on some heart medication that was able to counteract whatever she was injected with enough to keep her alive, but she hasn’t regained consciousness. Until we know exactly what she was dosed with, to see if it’s possible to counteract the effects completely, it’s unlikely she will come out of her coma. Winston...”

Winston looked up from his coffee, a look of deep pain on his face.

Morrison fixed him with his piercing gaze, and then said, “I want you to study everything about that dart that you can. I know you are upset about the state that Lena is in, but this is the only way to help her at this time. Let me know whatever you find.”

Winston turned his gaze back down to his coffee, then slowly got out of his chair. As he was walking out the door, McCree caught a glimpse of his face, and was fairly sure that he saw the shiny glimmer of a tear roll down his face.

He turned back towards Morrison, his attention undivided. Reinhardt did the same. Morrison got up from his seat and turned his back to them, his hands clasped behind him.

“Reinhardt, McCree, I want the both of you to investigate the building the sniper fired from. We’ve got a warrant to access the roof, but it’s only good for today.” He turned back to face them, and handed McCree a paper from his desk.

“Go, and see what you can determine. I want this sniper found and caught.”

Recognizing the dismissal, Reinhardt and McCree nodded their understanding, and left Morrison to his thoughts. As they were walking down the stairs back to the main floor of the police station, Reinhardt commented to McCree, “I’ve known Winston for several years, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him that torn up and distressed before. He looked as if he was almost dead inside.”

McCree nodded solemnly.

“Indeed. Obviously, I haven’t known Winston that long, but anyone could see the suffering on his face. I wonder if he blames himself in some way.”

Reinhardt shrugged, having no answer available.

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later, McCree and Reinhardt were back at the scene of the crime. After a tense discussion with the less than amiable building manager of the office structure that McCree had suspected was the origin of the sniper shot, they were finally granted access to the roof’s building.

Immediately, the pair of them started searching for clues, looking for anything that could give more information about this mysterious sniper. They were fortunate that the last few days had been clear, with no rain to wash away evidence. If the sniper had left anything behind, they should be able to find it.

McCree started at the edge of the building, as he thought that it was the most likely place to have a sniper rifle setup. At least, he thought grimly, it’s how he would have done it. Looking down at one point that was about two feet from the edge of the roof, he noticed some faint scratches.

He knelt down closer to get a better look, and saw that these were all evenly spaced in a triangular pattern. The sniper had used a tripod to stabilize the shot. McCree pulled a notepad out of his coat pocket and documented his findings.

A small distance away, Reinhardt discovered a small, yet curious looking cylinder. Picking it up, he examined it more closely. It seemed to be a small steam compression cylinder. This indicated that the rifle that was used was not a standard firearm, with a projectile being propelled by an explosion of gunpowder. This was a custom job, a rifle that was based on steam technology to power it. It fit with McCree’s initial summary that whoever this sniper was, they were a professional, experienced in assassination attempts. And it also showed that they either had deep pockets themselves, or they worked for someone that had deep pockets. A custom built steam rifle that was designed explicitly for the purpose of firing a low-speed projectile would not be cheap to come by. Reinhardt scratched his beard thoughtfully, and he put the cylinder into his pants pocket, carefully wrapped up to avoid contaminating the surface with his fingerprints.

McCree and Reinhardt spent the next couple of hours combing the rooftop, but they were unable to find any other clues. It was past noon at this point, and McCree suggested that they get some lunch and compare notes. Reinhardt agreed, so they made their way back down to street level and settled on a small diner that offered burgers and fries.

Settling down into their booth, they ordered their meal. McCree got a regular sized cheeseburger with only a slice of onion and ketchup on it. Reinhardt, somewhat to the shock of their waitress, got a monstrous triple patty burger with lots of pickles.

After finishing their meal, Reinhardt and McCree discussed their findings on the rooftop, with each being very interested in what the other found. McCree was particularly interested in the discovery of the steam cylinder.

“You know, I never even knew that steam-based rifles were even a thing. It doesn’t seem like the most practical system, given all the components that any steam-driven unit needs, with a boiler, piping for the water, etc.”

Reinhardt nodded vigorously, licking the salt from his fries off his fingers. McCree tried very hard not to get distracted by this, but he found it impossible to. To his exasperation, he felt a burning desire of hunger that was unrelated to the food...It was only when Reinhardt started talking again after wiping his mouth with a napkin that McCree was brought back into reality.

“Oh yes. You definitely don’t see them as much anymore, but steam-powered rifles saw some niche use in the war.”

McCree knew that the war Reinhardt was referring to was a dispute between the United States and Canada some ten years ago. The two nations fought a short-lived war, lasting only a few months, over land on the border.

“Steam-powered rifles were used in recon units by snipers. They were quiet compared to standard rifles, and even though they were much lower-powered, that didn’t matter. Both sides often employed projectiles that were sharpened, and coated with poison. Targets marked for death would get hit, and no one would know where the shot came from. Enough about that though. I’m interested to hear why you think the tripod is significant.”

McCree leaned forward in his chair, a glint in his eye.

“It is immensely significant. That tripod being there really helps to narrow down who our sniper is. It’s kind of odd that they would have used a tripod, isn’t it? The distance from that office’s rooftop to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street isn’t that long. A man would have been able to keep the rifle stable for the shot without needing a tripod.” He paused here. “But a woman...”

Reinhardt’s eyes lit up in understanding, and he continued McCree’s thought.

“A woman would need to be able to keep the rifle balanced while taking the shot. No matter how impressive a marksman they were, those steam rifles are heavy.”

McCree nodded solemnly.

Reinhardt meshed his fingers together, and put them behind his head, leaning back in his chair as he did so.

“So, we are looking for a female sniper, and one that has enough experience to know about steam-rifles. Well, I think there’s one person we can readily dismiss from a suspect list.”

McCree raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Who?”

With a grin, Reinhardt said, “Zarya. I’m pretty sure that she would have no need of a tripod when firing a rifle.”

McCree choked into his drink, coughing a bit. When he had regained his composure somewhat, he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure Zarya would have just thrown the rifle at her target. She’s not exactly a champion of finesse.”

Reinhardt gave a booming laugh that caused some of the other patrons in the diner to turn and throw him a dirty look. Reinhardt gave a brief apology, but then resumed more serious discussion with McCree.

“In all seriousness though, there is one name that comes to mind.”

McCree paused, waiting for Reinhardt to continue.

Stroking his beard thoughtfully, Reinhardt said, “Amelie Lacroix was a sniper in the war, I do know that. She was highly decorated, and she would be intimately familiar with steam-rifles. I can’t place her as an assassin though, even if she does seem thoroughly emotionless.”

Stretching, McCree finished his drink and left money on the table to cover his check as well as a generous tip for their waitress. Reinhardt got up from the table as well, paying for his own meal. The pair made their way outside, and started walking back to the station.

On the way, McCree asked, “Do you know where we might see this Miss Lacroix, to ask her some questions?”

Reinhardt replied, “She is the owner of The Iris. She doesn’t show up as much as she used to, but she usually makes an appearance on weekends. We should stop in at The Iris this Saturday and see if we can talk to her.”

McCree nodded, and they continued on in silence until they reached the station.

When they went into their office, they noticed a note from Ms. Vaswani on Reinhardt’s desk. Reinhardt picked it up and read it.

Giving McCree a quick glance, he said, “Apparently Morrison wants to see us again. It would seem as though Winston has found something about that dart.”

McCree was astounded that Winston was able to find something out so quickly, but it did seem as though the man really was a genius. The two detectives made their way back up to Morrison’s office, awaiting what this new information could be.

They let themselves into Morrison’s office. Morrison was standing like he was when they left in the morning, his back turned towards them. McCree said, “Sir, we heard that you wanted to see us?”

Morrison turned around and nodded slowly, before replying, “Yes. Winston has uncovered two rather interesting things about that dart. Did the both of you find anything noteworthy on the rooftop of that office building?”

McCree nodded once, and then explained, “Yes, sir, we did. Reinhardt found a cylinder that would have been used in a steam rifle. I found scratches that indicated the shooter was using a tripod. From this, we have deduced that our shooter is a female, and an experienced sniper at that. She probably was in the war a decade ago, and was exposed to steam rifles therein. We have a suspect in Madame Lacroix, the owner of The Iris, sir. She was a famed sniper in the war, according to Reinhardt. We’re planning on interviewing her at the earliest chance we can get.”

Morrison kept perfectly still through McCree’s dialogue, his head leaning against his hands. When McCree was finished, he nodded slightly, and slowly eased his hands onto the desk.

“That’s excellent detective work, from both of you. Let me know what you can get out of Madame Lacroix. Even if she isn’t the shooter, it’s likely she knows someone that could be a suspect. Before you leave though, I want you to hear the findings that Winston gathered from the dart. Reinhardt, you may want to take a seat for this.”

Reinhardt knit his eyebrows together in a perplexed expression, but did as Morrison suggested, and sat down. Morrison took a deep breath and then continued on.

“The first thing that Winston discovered is that the chemical in the dart that Ms. Oxton was injected with is no ordinary poison.”

He gave both McCree and Reinhardt a hard, steely look.

“That dart contained Dragonfyre. An extremely concentrated form of it, that with the dosage contained therein, should have been fatal within minutes of injection. Ms. Oxton is extremely fortunate that the heart medication she is on appears to interact with Dragonfyre on a chemical level and either dilute it or neutralize it. Winston is looking into the medication as a possible antidote for Dragonfyre overdoses.”

McCree and Reinhardt exchanged a significant look. So, the Shimada were involved with the sniper, just as McCree suspected. This meant that this sniper was being provided technology from the Shimada as a gun for hire, or, someone within Shimada Pharmaceutical was the sniper themselves.

Morrison coughed to turn focus back on himself. McCree and Reinhardt gave their attention back to the chief.

“That was the first thing that Winston discovered. The second...well, Reinhardt, you may want to brace yourself for what I am about to tell you. That dart has a complex and miniature steam driven technology behind it. The same kind of technology that your friend Torbjorn was attempting to develop a couple of years ago.”

Reinhardt’s eyes widened in shock, struggling to comprehend what the chief had just said, and what he was also implying.

Slowly regaining his composure, Reinhardt shook his head firmly and spoke for the first time since entering the room.

“No. Torbjorn would NEVER get involved in anything like this, EVER! He is a good, honest man! I can’t believe, not for a second, that he is involved in this! I’ve known him for over a decade, we were in the war together, chief! Torbjorn has sacrificed so much in his life, for the sake of others. No. He may have had a hand in developing the technology behind this dart, but I refuse to believe that he was aware of its intention! I REFUSE!” Reinhardt almost shouted the last sentence.

Morrison narrowed his eyes at Reinhardt, and then said, “Watch your tone, Reinhardt. I don’t think Torbjorn was involved in this either. At least, not directly. Which is why I want you and McCree to go talk to him, and see what you can learn. However, if anything appears out of the ordinary, the police department will have no choice but to investigate him thoroughly.”

Slowly, with a weighted sigh, Reinhardt calmed back down. McCree said nothing, observing the exchange between his partner and Morrison with a muted expression. The next time Reinhardt spoke, it was careful and measured.

“I’m sorry sir. Please forgive my outburst. I will talk to Torbjorn, today if I can. He should still be on the campus of the University of Chicago.”

Morrison stood up from his desk and walked around to the front of it. He leaned against it, and crossed his arms.

“Be careful, Reinhardt. You’re a driven and passionate man that cares strongly about justice, but this has affected your judgment in the past. Be mindful of that. Dismissed.”

With that, Reinhardt and McCree got up and left Morrison’s office for the second time that day. Morrison handed the dart back to McCree on his way out. The pair headed down the stairs and back into the main concourse. McCree still hadn’t said anything.

Reinhardt led the way out back to his motorcycle. As the pair climbed aboard it, McCree could sense the tension in Reinhardt. He recalled the other night, when he had first discovered the dart. Reinhardt displayed some familiarity with the dart, he remembered. As if he knew, or at least suspected, the origin of it from the start. McCree pondered this, and, with a sigh, knew he should ask Reinhardt about it.

Clearing his throat, McCree rested his hand on Reinhardt’s shoulder, and said, “Reinhardt.”

Reinhardt was busy looking over the gauges, but he grunted in response to show that he was listening.

McCree continued on, undeterred. “The other night...I showed you the dart first before Morrison showed up, you remember? And you seemed like you knew the origin of it. You suspected that Torbjorn was the origin of it, didn’t you?”

Reinhardt took off his helmet and rested it on the handlebars. He then half-turned in his seat so that he was looking directly at McCree, his stormy gray good eye meeting McCree’s light brown gaze. McCree looked into Reinhardt’s face, judging the expression he found therein. It wasn’t an intense look, but a more resigned view.

There were several seconds of silence between the two, when Reinhardt eventually sighed, cutting the tension quickly and smoothly.

“Yes, you’re right McCree. You’re always right. I did suspect that the dart was of Torbjorn’s design, but I didn’t want to admit it. Not even to myself. Torbjorn has been my closest friend for years, and he has a certain signature of his designs that I would always recognize. You see, Torbjorn was fascinated by the steam-driven rifles. He always thought that the technology was under-utilized, that it had the potential to be scaled up so much more. Towards the end of the war, he developed a steam-based repeating turret. He was an engineer in the military, and was always tinkering in his spare time. So, he presented this turret to our superiors as a defense option, attempting to convince them of its usefulness. Well, there was an accident during a test. One of the regulator valves on his turret failed, and it exploded violently. There were no fatalities, but several people were seriously injured. Including myself. A piece of shrapnel cut my eye, giving me the scar that I have today. Torbjorn was devastated, because of both the injury that one of his inventions had caused to me, and the utter failure of his project. He gave up on steam-based inventions after that. Once the war was finished, we both came back to Chicago. I went back to the police force, and he became a professor of mechanical engineering at the University of Chicago. The knowledge that Torbjorn has resumed his work with steam is disheartening on its own, but that he may also be working with the Shimada...it’s unthinkable.”

Reinhardt put his helmet back on and tightened the strap securely.

“Look, we should get going. I don’t know how much longer Torbjorn will be at the University.”

Reinhardt revved the motorcycle’s engine, and they sped out of the parking lot, on their way to the University, and hopefully, to answers.

 

***

Reinhardt and McCree arrived at the University of Chicago at about 4:30pm. Reinhardt navigated to the engineering department, and parked in front of the entrance. As they climbed off the motorcycle, one of the many students milling about paused and looked at them. After getting a good look, McCree recognized the student as Hana Song, the waitress from The Iris. Hana crossed her arms, leaning against the door, waiting for them.

When the pair made their way up to the entrance, Reinhardt called out to Hana. “Hana! It’s so good to see you again! We’re looking for your professor. Is Torbjorn still here, do you know?”

Hana blew a bubble with the gum that she was chewing, and popped it noisily. McCree thought that she looked a lot more sullen than the last time he saw her. Reinhardt must have thought so as well, because he looked at McCree with a raised eyebrow.

Hana gave a toss of her hair, and nodded at last. “Yeah. Professor Torbjorn is in his office. C’mon, I’ll show you the way.”

She pushed open the door, and the detectives followed in step, Reinhardt having to duck to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. McCree and Reinhardt followed behind Hana as she lead the way to one of the research labs on the floor. She pressed her hand against the door, pausing.

The girl turned her head towards the men, and she said, “Hey, before you go to see Torbjorn, would you like to see what I’m working on?”

McCree and Reinhardt exchanged a glance, and then both nodded. Reinhardt said, “Sure. I’d like to see what your hard work has produced!”

Hana brightened considerably. “Alright! It’s still a work in progress, so don’t judge it too harshly. I’m hoping one day that this can be used by the military.”

With that, she pushed open the doors and the detectives walked into a room with a tall ceiling, and several students milling about, working on their various projects. McCree noticed an office door located in the back of the room, with a frosted glass window. The window had a title emblazoned on it that read: Professor Torbjorn Lindholm, Dean of Mechanical Engineering.

McCree turned his attention back towards Hana, who was leading him and Reinhardt on towards a large object that was enshrouded in a white cloth. She stood next to it, and grasped the cloth in one hand. “Now, please don’t laugh at it.”

She pulled the cloth off in one fluid motion, revealing a contraption that looked like...something. McCree was not able to discern what the thing was supposed to be, but he did notice that it had steam pipes and canisters routing into mechanical things he couldn’t name. There was also something that looked like the cockpit in a plane.

McCree started stroking his beard, contemplating what this thing could be. He was spared too much thought on the matter by Reinhardt, who in his typically boisterous and outspoken manner, said, perhaps a bit louder than he should have, “Hana, what the hell is thing?”

Hana quickly buried her face in her hands, embarrassed. Some of the other students in the room turned to look at the scene. A few pointed and chuckled. McCree got the impression that Hana wasn’t the most popular with her peers.

Hana started stammering, “Well, it’s um, it’s-”

A new voice with a Swedish accent interrupted, “It’s a marvelous piece of engineering, that’s what it is. At least, it will be when it’s finished.”

McCree turned around, looking around, and then down at a very short man who was sporting a mechanic’s garb. Hana squeaked, “Professor!”

McCree looked at her briefly, and then back to the man in front of him. _So, this is Torbjorn_ , he thought.

Torbjorn gave Hana’s arm a confident pat, being unable to reach higher. “Hana is one of the best students I have had the pleasure of teaching in recent years. And her idea for a piloted walking ground vehicle is extraordinary. It’s still a prototype right now of course, but give her another year or so, and it will be a fine piece of machinery.”

Hana beamed at his compliment. McCree considered the contraption before him. This thing was supposed to be able to walk, and be some sort of operational military ground vehicle? He’d be very interested in seeing that, if it ever came to fruition. But, despite his doubts about the technology, he felt it was best to not crush Hana’s spirit by stating so.

Reinhardt reached down and grasped Torbjorn’s hand firmly, giving him a rigorous handshake that was also causing the fellow to shake entirely, given his small size. “Torbjorn! My friend, it is so good to see you again. Although, I wish it were under better circumstances. There’s something that we need to discuss. Privately.”

Not phased, Torbjorn nodded. “Come. We can talk in my office.” After filing in past the dwarf of a man, Torbjorn closed the frosted glass door behind him. Torbjorn’s “office” was less that and more of a workshop, McCree thought. There were parts strewn about everywhere on workbenches, with oily rags and tools cluttering the space. The detective noticed that there were several bins on the floor, filled with broken or rejected projects. Crammed into the very back of the room was a more conventional office desk, with a wooden chair seated behind it. It was obvious that this was the least used aspect of the room.

Torbjorn settled himself into the chair behind the desk and nodded at the two men in front of him. “Alright, tell me, what can I do for you gentlemen? But before we start that discussion, who is your new friend, Reinhardt?”

Reinhardt coughed, replying, “Well, this is Detective Jesse McCree. He’s a new transfer from the Santa Fe police department. He’s...taken over Hanzo’s old position.”

Torbjorn nodded politely, giving McCree a small smile, which McCree acknowledged with a brief, but respectful, nod.

Reinhardt coughed again, steeling himself for the awkward confrontation that was imminent.

“As for why we’re here, we were hoping that you could give us some information about this,” Reinhardt gestured towards McCree. McCree pulled the dart out of his pocket and handed it to Reinhardt.

Reinhardt placed the dart on Torbjorn’s desk, and he asked, with a slight quiver in his normally strong and robust voice, “Torbjorn. My friend. This dart has the signature markings of your workmanship. It was used a few days ago in an attempt to kill a woman named Lena Oxton. This is leading into a serious accusation against you. Please tell me that you didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Torbjorn picked the dart up, examining it. McCree observed in silence. He had decided on the trip over to the university that he would let Reinhardt take the lead on questioning Torbjorn, since he knew the man. However, since he knew the man, it was also a potential problem that Reinhardt would let his emotions start clouding his judgment. With this in mind, McCree was ready to step in and level the situation out.

Torbjorn was looking at the dart quite closely, taking in the intricate workings. McCree was judging his reactions. Surprise. Confusion. But nothing sinister. There was no anger or guilt betrayed in Torbjorn’s expressions. McCree was starting to suspect that Torbjorn may have created the dart, but he didn’t have any idea what it was used for.

After a few minutes, the short man confirmed McCree’s suspicions. He set the dart down carefully on the surface of his desk, and knit his fingers together, with a calm and measured look on his face. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you, old friend. I do know something about this dart.”

A look of shock and disbelief rippled across Reinhardt’s visage. He started spluttering, “Torbjorn! How...I don’t understand...after everything we’ve been through, from the war...”

McCree took this as his cue to step in. He placed a hand on Reinhardt’s shoulder, giving the older man a reassuring look. Reinhardt looked confused, but relented, letting McCree take charge. McCree turned his attention back towards Torbjorn, nodding at him.

“You know about this dart, because you did create it. But you had no idea what it was used for, and if I could take a guess, what this dart was used for is a far cry from its original purpose. Am I right?”

Torbjorn gave McCree an inquisitive, curious look, likely trying to understand how this man before him was able to determine so much with so little to go on. Torbjorn sighed, and inclined his head sadly. “Yes. I did create this dart, or rather, the prototype that this dart is based off of, several years ago. You see, I was approached by Shimada Pharmaceutical to create a new type of syringe. This dart was meant to be used to deliver medicine quickly and painlessly. I was able to get a working prototype in order but the deal that was setup between myself and the Shimada for mass production never came to fruition, due to complications in internal financing and corporate huffing on their end. I was paid for my efforts in creating the prototype, but that was it. I never heard anything else about it, and I assumed that my prototype was either lost or destroyed. Clearly, I was wrong. But, I had no idea about this attack that you mentioned earlier. Someone at Shimada Pharmaceutical has obviously taken my original design and modified it, turning something that was meant to be used to help people into a weapon.”

Reinhardt listened in silence as Torbjorn explained the situation. He had relaxed visibly by the end of it. Internally, he was relieved, because it meant that his friend was not involved with the attack on Lena. On the other hand, he realized that this put him and McCree back to square one in terms of the investigation. Reinhardt asked his friend, “Torbjorn. Do you remember who your initial contact the Shimada initially approached you about this was?”

The small man nodded gravely. “Yes. But I’m afraid it won’t help you. The man from Shimada Pharmaceutical who was my point of contact for this was Franklin Amberlain.”

McCree and Reinhardt exchanged a dark look. Franklin Amberlain. The researcher for Shimada Pharmaceutical who had started asking the initial questions that lead to the first investigation of Shimada Pharmaceutical. Questions that led to his death.

The detectives shook their heads in unified frustration. This lead had lead to a literal dead end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you're all enjoying the progress on the story at this point. I'm starting to write longer chapters, primarily because it's getting really hard for me to put all the details I want into my original constraints. Things are definitely picking up in the progression, but they haven't come to a head just yet. I will say though, that even though I don't have anything more than the outlines in my head, chapters 6, 7, and 8 are my personal favorites. So, stay tuned. Thanks again to everyone that is keeping up with this story, you're all awesome, and a big part of my motivation to keep going! Chapter 6's release date is...ambiguous. I might be able to get it out within the next week and a half, but it's more than likely going to be three weeks or longer, as I'm going on a trip soon that is going to severely impact the time I have to write. We'll see. But I can guarantee, it will be worth the wait. :)
> 
> Update 04/04/2018: Hey everyone. Just want to let everyone know, chapter 6 is finished, and it's currently with my beta readers. Once they've finished with it, it'll be uploaded! Shouldn't be too terribly long. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt and McCree continue to investigate their limited leads. They question Madame Amelie Lacroix about her potential involvement in Lena's shooting. Madame Lacroix affirms her innocence and points them in the direction of a new, even more deadly, suspect. Reinhardt and McCree receive an anonymous message telling them to investigate a warehouse with dire consequences. Lastly, they are forced to confront their feelings about each other.

Chapter 6

 

Part  I

 

After leaving the University of Chicago, McCree and Reinhardt were making their way back to the police station. Torbjorn had managed to find a copy of his original contract with Shimada Pharmaceutical. This document would confirm his non-involvement with the situation currently.

While Reinhardt focused on driving, McCree was lost in thought. This case was proving to be quite complex and varied. Right now, the only lead that that they had was to talk with Madame Lacroix at The Iris, but that would have to wait until the weekend. Even then, there was no guarantee that she would be there at all for them to talk to. McCree was left wondering to himself what the Shimada’s end game was with this. Only time would tell.

 

~Three days later~

 

It was late evening on Friday. The police station was abuzz with activity, with officers leaving with excitement to go home for the weekend. Some were going home to their families that they did not get a chance to see much during the week. Some were going out and socializing. Then there were a few that were going home alone, silently, and discouraged. Winston fell into this latter category.

McCree and Reinhardt were in their office, packing stuff up. Being detectives they were technically on call during the weekend, but Morrison had acknowledged that until they had met with Madame Lacroix, the case was more or less at a halt. To occupy themselves over the last few days, the two of them had spent a lot of time going over the clues from the first investigation of Shimada Pharmaceutical, searching for any relevant patterns.

They were deep in discussion this evening, chatting animatedly even after they had stepped out of their office and Reinhardt had locked the door. 

“I’m telling you Reinhardt, there’s more to this that we aren’t seeing. Why would the Shimada go to the trouble of everything that they have done so far currently in this investigation, not to mention what they did in the past? This goes beyond gang activity, I’m sure of it.”

Reinhardt shook his head as they headed out.

“And I still think that you’re carrying their motivations too far. By selling Dragonfyre to the local gangs, they are able to make a lot more money than they are just by selling it legally over the counter. It’s as simple as that.”

McCree sighed, exasperated.

“If it was purely gang activity, they wouldn’t be going to the lengths that they are to keep certain parties silenced. Gang activity done right is untraceable. You keep yourself low, you do everything on the sly, and you can get away with an operation like that for a long time. It’s how the Deadlocks were as successful as they were. They only failed for two reasons. The first, they brought me into their midst, and made the mistake of teaching me their ways. The second, they started to branch out from narcotics work, trying to act as a true criminal empire. The Shimada are the same. Why assassinate Franklin Amberlain, if he was only a researcher for Dragonfyre? I’m still trying to figure out the significance of why they would bother going after Lena. A high school history teacher? Hardly a threat.”

Reinhardt scratched the back of his head, unsure what to say in response. The pair walked on in silence, making their way to The Iris.

When they arrived at the entrance, Reinhardt rapped on the door. On cue, Mei’s voice came from the other side, asking for the password. Reinhardt spoke it easily (‘sunset canyon’), and the door swung open to admit them. 

It had only been a week since the last time McCree had seen her, but he did think that she looked worse for wear. There was strain behind her smile. She graciously admitted Reinhardt and McCree into the club, though, and didn’t let on to what her problems were.

After walking through into the main room, it was apparent what the source of Mei’s stress was. There were hardly any patrons in tonight, compared to a week ago, when the place was absolutely bustling with activity, people laughing and talking. Now, the few patrons that were here were all sitting quietly, talking in hushed tones, hunched over their drinks.

Reinhardt turned to Mei and said, “Mei, what’s going on? Where is everyone? The Iris usually has three times this number of people on a Friday night!”

Mei looked at Reinhardt sadly. 

“After what happened last week, no one wants to come into The Iris. They’re all afraid. It’s been a long time since a crime happened basically on our doorstep. Madame Lacroix thinks of this only as a temporary setback, that we will see our numbers back up to what they were, but I’m not as certain. A reputation makes up a lot of a place’s appeal, and once lost, it’s very hard to reclaim.”

Reinhardt gave Mei a sympathetic look. Even though Lena was still in stable condition, she had not yet woken up from her coma. Mei was right, McCree thought. Just that kind of lingering feeling, even though there had not been any crime reported in this area in the week since the attack, the civilians’ perception would still be one of fear. The only way something like this would go away would be if people felt safe in their community. And that would only happen if the Shimada’s plans were revealed in full, and they were brought to justice. The sooner that he and Reinhardt were able to talk to Madame Lacroix, the sooner that this case could get resolved.

Turning towards Mei, McCree said, “Madame Mei, I am deeply sorry for what has happened to this establishment. The case that Reinhardt and I are working on will take us to the source of that attack last week. Once we have gotten to the root of it, your patrons should come back, and this community icon can flourish once again.”

Mei nodded her head in gratitude.

McCree continued on, and said, “In order for us to meet that end, we need to talk with Madame Lacroix. We believe that she may have information that will be vital to this investigation. Please, is she here tonight?”

Mei stepped back from the detectives.

“Madame Lacroix? You don’t think she was involved in what happened to Ms. Oxton, do you?”

McCree sensed her unease, and his next words were chosen carefully. Shaking his head in an easy manner, he said, “No. I don’t think Madame Lacroix was involved in what happened to Ms. Oxton. Reinhardt and I think that Madame Lacroix has some knowledge about what happened that may give us a lead. Our investigation thus far indicates that someone from the war is a primary suspect. We’re hoping that Madame Lacroix could give us some information that would help narrow down our suspect lists. With her help, we can make this area safer again. That’s what you would like to see, isn’t it?”

Mei stopped, considering. Finally, she nodded in agreement.

“I think Madame Lacroix is still in her office in the back. Pardon me while I check, and see if she will speak with you.” With that, Mei headed off toward the backstage area behind where the musicians played.

Reinhardt looked on in awe at McCree’s ability. The man could move so swiftly from calculating and decisive, to influential and warm. It astounded him. Though he had only known his new partner for a week, it was obvious that Jesse McCree was an individual comprised of several layers, and he had barely seen only a handful of those layers. He was intrigued by him, Reinhardt knew. He realized, with a start, that being with McCree gave him a thrill. McCree brought a sense of calm and reason to everything he did, a perfect counter to Reinhardt’s own personality. As McCree was talking to Mei, Reinhardt had caught himself inadvertently studying him. The build and strength of his body, the assured quality with which he carried himself. The way that light hit McCree’s face, and filtered through his soft brown beard, with his eyes that were in themselves a warm chocolate color. Reinhardt stopped himself at that. These feelings he was having…they were strange and perplexing to him. Was this affection and caring for his friend and colleague, or something...more? Reinhardt was confused, deeply unsure of what to make of himself.

McCree was watching Mei as she headed to Madame Lacroix’s office, and then he turned to look at his partner. Reinhardt was staring at him, unblinking. Slightly concerned, McCree asked him, “Reinhardt? Are you alright?”

Reinhardt hadn’t realized that he had gotten so lost in his thoughts, and as he came out of his reverie, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Until he knew what exactly these feelings meant, it was best he hide them within.

He replied to McCree, a bit more dismissively than he had intended, “I’m fine. Just got a bit of a headache.”

McCree nodded in understanding. 

“I empathize, my friend. Headaches are the worst.”

Reinhardt grunted in response. McCree looked at him curiously. It wasn’t usual for Reinhardt to switch moods like this, even if he was suffering from a headache. He dismissed it as overwork and stress from the case, and didn’t think anything more of it.

Mei returned shortly afterward, and said, “Madame Lacroix will speak to the both of you, but she asks that you keep it brief.”

McCree smiled.

“Thank you, Mei. Lead the way.”

Mei bowed lightly, and from there lead McCree and Reinhardt to the back office. This office was definitely the least notable one that McCree had seen yet, with just a simple black door marking its  entrance. Mei knocked lightly on the door, and a soft voice with a French accent said, “Enter.”

The detectives entered into the muted space beyond. The air was thick with smoke, and the interior was rather dark. There were drapes covering the windows, the only source of light being a gas lamp on a desk. Seated at that desk, with her back turned toward him, was a pale woman with long black hair. She was wearing a fashionable red dress, and there was a cigarette held in the fingers of her right hand. Slowly, she turned her chair around to face the men before her.

Fixing McCree and Reinhardt with a piercing gaze, she said, “Well well well. So, these are my visitors from the police,” giving them both a quick, sweeping look. “Not bad. Could be better. Detectives Reinhardt and McCree, I take it?” She blew out a large puff of smoke as they nodded to confirm. “Mei, would you be a dear and get some refreshments for us? I think I still have a bottle of Dom Perignot from 1912.”

Mei bowed her head and left the room. While waiting on her return, McCree took observation of their host. Madame Lecroix had an air about her that suggested a cold and detached demeanor, a demeanor that was the result of something tragic happening in her life. The loss of a dearly loved one, perhaps?

McCree looked around the room carefully. On the back wall, behind Madame Lacroix, there was a framed photograph of a man. This confirmed his suspicion. She had lost this man, likely her husband, and it was not an expected passing. However, compared to most people that would experience a loss like this, she was not weakened. No, if anything she embraced her sadness, and it made her stronger. While her face could be described as warm, even cheerful, the look in her eyes was that of a frosty winter, a look that chilled McCree to the bone. He knew that Amelie Lacroix would be the kind of woman that would not hesitate to kill, were it necessary for her to do so. Yet...he couldn’t place why, but he had a feeling, like he did with Torbjorn, that she was not involved with the Shimada. He pondered, wondering if his instincts would continue to hold true.

Within a few minutes, Mei had returned with the bottle of vintage wine, and three wine glasses. Not missing a beat, Madame Lacroix noticed the lack of a fourth glass, and asked Mei, “My dear, why have you not provided a glass for yourself? You are perfectly welcome to join in our conversation, anything I have to say to these men is not something you should think of yourself as not privy to.”

Mei replied, “Thank you, Madame. But I really should go back to watching the entrance to The Iris. I have neglected it enough tonight.”

Madame Lacroix shook her head slowly.

“Very well. Go on then, dear. Oh, and Mei?”

Mei paused in the doorway.

“Yes, Madame?”

“Should you see Hana, please tell her that her focus is needed on her waitressing, and not on her concerns with our saxophone player. I feel the poor thing has bitten off more than she chew.”

Mei nodded in understanding, and proceeded out of the office, closing the door behind her.

Madame Lacroix uncorked the wine bottle with a bottle opener that was located conveniently in her desk. Clearly, this was not the first time that she had indulged in wine in this office. She poured out the dark red liquid evenly into the three glasses. She took a small puff on her cigarette, and sipped her wine with a delicate hold on the glass.

Reinhardt and McCree drank from their own glasses, savoring the beverage. Madame Lacroix kept a curious, yet intent, gaze on them. She raised her own glass, saying, “A toast, I think, before we begin our little discussion.”

The detectives paused. Assured of their attention, Madame Lacroix continued on. “Yes. A toast...to my late husband Gerard. Tonight marks the fifth anniversary of his death. Five years, since he left me to run The Iris on my own. The first few months were difficult, of course. I let myself go horribly. I stopped eating. I almost died of starvation. And then, I realized something. It wasn’t until he was gone that I had true appreciation for what it meant to be alive. Pain and suffering defines us. But, we are weak, intolerable creatures until we rise above it. Embolden that suffering. Embrace it.”

With this ominous finish, she drank from her glass, the silence in the room palpable. Reinhardt exchanged an uneasy glance with McCree, before acknowledging the toast. Afterwards, he set his wine glass down. He did not touch it for the rest of the night.

McCree, not as easily phased, drained his glass. While he agreed with Reinhardt’s unspoken sentiment that Madame Lacroix was off-putting, and in a word, creepy, he was not one to waste good alcohol. Even served by a potential suspect. Regardless of her demeanor, Madame Lacroix had not yet proved herself to be a direct threat.

Setting his empty glass down, McCree fixed Madame Lacroix with a calm, yet determined gaze.

“Madame Lacroix, while the gestures and manners are appreciated,” he indicated the wine with a wave of his hand, “that is not why we are here. We would like to ask you some questions about the war, and about your work as a sniper specifically. How did you come to earn the title of Widowmaker?”

Reinhardt gave McCree a surprised look. Madame Lacroix ran her finger lightly around the edge of her glass. She was looking down at the table, but McCree did not miss the slight smirk that had formed on her mouth.

She took another drag on her cigarette, the end glowing in the semi-darkness.

“Not many people know about that delightful moniker. Tell me detective, how did you learn of it? I can’t place you as being someone who would have fought in the war.”

McCree shook his head slowly.

“No ma’am, I didn’t. I was old enough to, of course, I was 27 at the time. But I had no interest in the war, and since enlistment wasn’t mandatory, I saw no reason why a country boy from Santa Fe, New Mexico, would need to get involved in something that did not concern him on the other side of the country. But we are not here to talk about me.” He nodded his head politely after speaking, but the directness of his words was not lost on Madame Lacroix.

She eased back in her chair, condensing her thoughts.

She refilled her and McCree’s glasses of wine, before continuing, “That is true. Well, I earned the name ‘Widowmaker’ because of one thing, dear. I proved myself exceptionally good at killing people. I did not miss shots. If I had someone in my sights, that person would die. No questions asked. I killed many men, young and old, during the war. Some women as well. Which leads into the real reason that you and your companion are here, does it not?”

She took another exaggerated drag on her cigarette.

McCree chose his next words carefully before speaking. When he did speak, he said, “What do you mean, Madame?”

Madame Lacroix exhaled smoke, laughing softly with a tone that caused Reinhardt to visibly shiver. 

“Oh, my dear McCree. You don’t really think that it’s just the police and casual civilians that come into The Iris, do you? I doubt that there is a source better fed on the grapevine of the criminal underworld than I am. I hear everything about what is going on in this part of the city. Naturally, that would include some very interesting rumors I’ve picked up about what happened to Miss Oxton. Particularly, that she was shot by a steam rifle. Now, you know my history in the war. So, clearly, you have me under suspicion as a suspect. It’s really not that hard to infer.”

Reinhardt spoke for the first time since entering the office, and said, “Is this a confession? You know, I’ve been coming to The Iris for years, Madame Lacroix, and I’ve always known that you are merciless and cold. But what would you have to gain by shooting a high school history teacher?”

Madame Lacroix fixed Reinhardt with her cold gaze, and blew smoke softly into his face. Reinhardt coughed, his eyes watering.

“Really Reinhardt, I would expect better of you, as long as you have been a detective,” with this she stood up from her chair, and lightly held her wine in her hand. With her attention turned towards the photograph of her late husband, with just the faintest hint of longing in her expression, McCree noticed, she continued her train of thought.

“You answer your own question. What would I have to gain from shooting Miss Oxton? Nothing. She was a good, dependable patron. Killing her, or attempting to do so, is simply bad business.”

She turned her head slightly, looking at the detectives out of the corner of her eye.

“And that is the question you two should be asking yourselves as well. Word on the street is that this hit is connected in some way to Shimada Pharmaceutical. If you can accept that I would have no reason to attack Miss Oxton, then you must also ask why Shimada Pharmaceutical would. A high school history teacher does not pose a threat to anyone. Now, a reporter with such a juicy scoop, that it could endanger a whole corporation? Now that is a worthwhile target.”

Madame Lacroix turned her gaze fully back towards the detectives, her head inclined slightly.

Reinhardt looked confused, but McCree understood what Madame Lacroix was saying. Lena was never the target that night. Emily was. But why shoot Lena at all? Why not just kill Emily, and be done with it? He met Madame Lacroix’s cold gaze, and it was though she was daring him to put the pieces together, to figure it out. Slowly, he came to the conclusion that should have been obvious to him from the start. The sniper  _ chose _ to strike Lena. If the sniper had attacked Emily directly, there’s no guarantee that her story wouldn’t get out, either from Lena letting it get published post-mortem, or some other reporter telling the story after gathering the info. However, by attacking someone close to Emily, it would cause her distress and scare her out of printing the story. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen anything written in the paper by Emily in the last week. The realization washed over his face, with Madame Lacroix giving a light smirk of satisfaction.

McCree, with an awestruck, musing face, said to Madame Lacroix, “You aren’t the sniper.”

Madame Lacroix took another drag, before shaking her head.

“No, I am not. Once upon a time, I would not have considered a hit like this beneath me, if the price was right. But I am retired. I have enough to keep me busy trying to bring steady traffic into The Iris. And if I were behind it, I surely wouldn’t have tried killing someone so close to The Iris. It’s bad business, and it lowers my establishment’s reputation. It’s sloppy. And I certainly wouldn’t have used a steam rifle, such clumsy things as they are. I’ve always had distaste for them, despite my natural proficiency.”

McCree could tell that there was more to this than Madame Lacroix was letting on. This kind of hit was not her style. Before coming to The Iris, McCree had taken some time to research Madame Lacroix’s military endeavors, and in all of her kills from the war that were public record, she was known as being clean, efficient. She would not have played the kind of cloak and dagger game that the actual sniper was playing with Lena and Emily’s lives. The question then, was there a sniper from the war that would have, perhaps even perfected, playing shadow games with the lives of people like this?

McCree thought in depth about this. Finally, he asked, “So, you weren’t the sniper. This kind of hit, it doesn’t match your motif. But you know of a sniper who would fill this description, don’t you? A sniper that would have delighted in cloak and dagger play?”

Madame Lacroix nodded slowly.

“During the war, while I was known for efficiency in achieving my kills, my superiors did not always think that killing as many targets as possible was the best solution. Sometimes, they wanted more information than fatalities alone. The best way to do this was to have a mark that would slowly have pressure put on them. They wouldn’t be targeted directly, but their friends, their families? They would be the ones to suffer, with pressure being put on the mark until they gave in and started producing usable intel. Then, when their usefulness had expired, only then was their misery allowed to end, when everyone they knew was dead. I personally refused to partake in missions like that. I may be a killer, but I always wanted things to be clean-cut. Ana Amari, on the other hand, took it up as her honored duty to be a feared assassin, and did these things with pride.” 

She sat back down in her chair after this revelation.

McCree and Reinhardt’s attention was focused and undivided on Madame Lacroix at this point, as they eagerly awaited more information. Who was this Ana Amari, someone even more fearsome than Lacroix herself?

Madame Lacroix took a puff on her cigarette before she continued.

“She became well known for her usage of the steam rifle, and using poison tip projectiles. She would target the friends and loved ones of her actual marks, who would then give her information under the pretense that she would provide a cure. There was never a cure, not for the poison that she used. They would all die in a couple of weeks. And then, once she had extracted all useful information from her mark, she would dispose of them as well. The trail of bodies that was left in her wake was monstrous, even by my standards.”

Reinhardt and McCree exchanged a quick glance, and then McCree said, “And where is she now? What happened to her after the war?”

Madame Lacroix shook her head.

“No one knows. After the war ended, she dropped out of view. No one has heard from her since. Until now. You find Ana Amari, you find your sniper.”

Reinhardt and McCree pondered the situation, wondering how they were going to proceed with this information.

  
  


Part II

 

~Three Months Later~

 

Three months had passed since Reinhardt and McCree had talked with Madame Lacroix, and learned of Ana Amari. They had spent the time trying to uncover everything that they could find about her. They got her military records, records from before the war, where she went to school. If it was public record, they dug it up and investigated it thoroughly.

But, just like Madame Lacroix had told them, after the war, Amari’s records vanished. She became a ghost. She had moved out to the west coast after the war, but only for a few months. From there, her trail became scattered.

McCree had a theory that Amari was operating not only as a gun for hire for Shimada Pharmaceutical, but that the mysterious “Shrike,” the shadowy figure behind the street distribution of Dragonfyre was her as well. Unfortunately, the amount of information on the Shrike was even less than what they could find on Amari. The first recorded appearance of the Shrike was over a year ago, and the one photograph that had been captured did not reveal anything more than they knew already. 

With the information on Amari gathered, they had attacked the evidence of the case with swiftness and ferocity, getting disappointed time and time again, only to find renewed interest in the next piece of evidence. They were both convinced that there was something there that would cause a breakthrough for this case, and allow them to bring Shimada Pharmaceutical to justice.

After three months of searching though, they were both tired, frustrated, and disheartened. Try as they might, there wasn’t anything they could find that would prove the Shimada were behind the street dealings and underground surrounding Dragonfyre. 

One day, McCree let out a howl of frustration, throwing down his pen amidst the stacks of notes and papers around him. 

“I can’t take this shit anymore. There’s something we’re missing here, and I can’t find the fucking connection! DAMMIT!”

He put his head in his hands, with a groan.

Reinhardt gave him a sympathetic look over the top of his own massive stack of papers. He too was frustrated, and exhausted. They had both acknowledged that while the information on Amari was useful, it was more or less a dead end. Unless they were able to prove, irrefutably, that Shimada Pharmaceutical was behind the street distribution of Dragonfyre, Amari’s connection as an assassin/druglord didn’t matter, especially since they weren’t able to find her. If they weren’t able to cut it off at the source, it made no difference.

Reinhardt stood up from his desk with a sigh. They had been analyzing old evidence from the first investigation for the last three months to no avail. They were starting to go around in circles. Reinhardt had a feeling that the connection they were looking for could be found in the warehouse that Hanzo had discovered. Unfortunately, there were a lot of warehouses in Chicago, and Hanzo had not told him anything specific about this one before his death. He felt intrinsically though, that if they could find this warehouse, it would definitely allow them to break this case wide open. But until then, they needed a break.

Reinhardt stretched, and said, “McCree. We both need a break. We’ve been at this for hours. C’mon, let’s get something from the cafe down the street.”

McCree grunted in response, but he did lift his head and nod. He got up out of the labyrinth that was his desk, and followed Reinhardt out of the police station. As both were walking out, they failed to notice Jamison Fawkes, who was standing by in the shadows. Once McCree and Reinhardt had left through the front entrance, Jamison Fawkes pulled a bobby pin out of his pocket and picked the lock on their office door. Quietly, he unlocked it and slipped inside, where he dropped a note on McCree’s desk. He left the door unlocked as he was leaving, his blond hair flaming in the light, looking around him to make sure no one noticed him enter the office.

 

***

 

Given that it was later in the afternoon, there were only a few people seated inside the cafe, but McCree did see Winston sitting at a back table, where he was reading a book over his meal. McCree followed Reinhardt and ordered a roast beef sandwich and a soda. He paid for his food, and went over to Winston. Winston didn’t notice McCree’s presence until he sat down.

“Hey Winston. How have you been? I haven’t been able to talk to you a lot recently. How are things?”

Winston looked up from his book, peering at McCree through his glasses.

“I’ve been alright. There have been a few murders recently that were making things really interesting for my forensics work, so things haven’t been easy. But overall, I’m doing ok. Better now actually, that there’s been some improvement for Lena.”

McCree hadn’t heard anything about Lena’s condition since the day that Morrison had told him, Reinhardt, and Winston that she was in a coma. Interested, he leaned forward.

“Oh? How is she doing? Is she awake?”

Winston shook his head sadly before replying.

“No. She’s not awake, but the doctors think that it won’t be long before she does wake up. Her recent bloodwork shows that Dragonfyre is almost completely gone from her system. The heart medication she is on has been doing a decent job of counteracting the poisoning that she has gotten from Dragonfyre. It’s been rough, though. I don’t think a day has gone by where Emily wasn’t with her. The toll this whole ordeal has taken on her is extreme.”

He sighed heavily. But then, his face twitched into a slight grin.

“But, enough about what’s going on with me. I’m more interested to know about how thing’s have been going for you and Reinhardt with the Shimada investigation.”

McCree paused, his mouth full of roast beef and bread. He quickly glanced over at Reinhardt, who was in conversation with one of the cafe’s patrons, and then looked back at Winston. Was it just him, or did that grin start to look more like a smirk?

He swallowed, and said, “Well, we’re both stressed the fuck out, of course. This case is easily the hardest one I’ve worked on in my career. Neither one of us has found any connections that are a real breakthrough. Not yet, anyway.”

To his irritation, Winston was still smirking. What was this about?

“And Reinhardt? How is  _ Reinhardt? _ ”

McCree sat there mutely. Then he shook his head and said, “I honestly don’t know what you’re on about, Winston.”

Dear lord, could that stupid grin on Winston’s face get any wider?

Winston chuckled lightly before responding.

“You know, you might play the game where you hide your emotions away, but when it comes to Reinhardt, you may as well be holding up a sign that says, ‘I like big and hairy fuc-’”

“Shut up!” McCree hissed, looking over briefly at Reinhardt to make sure that he was still engrossed in his conversation with the cafe patron. He was, and was not paying him or Winston any attention at all. 

McCree relaxed slightly. Turning back to Winston, he said, “How did you know?”

“You are so obvious, it’s not hard. Anyone with eyes can see it. The way your gaze follows Reinhardt and how your eyes linger on him far longer than necessary. Your voice changes slightly when you are either speaking about Reinhardt or speaking to him. Even your posture, the way you hold yourself, it’s different when Reinhardt’s around. You move with a lighter step when he’s in your presence. And believe me, I’m not the only one to notice. Most of the station has seen the way you look at him. Besides that, since you two are sharing an apartment, there are even bets going around wondering when you’re going to make a move. Some people even think you’ve made one already, but I don’t think that’s the case.”

McCree gripped his soda bottle tightly, not daring to look in Reinhardt’s direction presently, not with the goddamn flush on his cheeks. Was he  _ really _ always this obvious? 

Of course, in retrospect, he couldn’t say he was surprised to hear that there rumors. He and Reinhardt  _ did _ spend basically dawn till dusk together, eating meals together, hanging out together with the little free time they had...though, to be fair, Torbjorn did usually accompany them when they went out to bars or pool halls. McCree had gotten to know Reinhardt very well over the last three months, from hearing stories about his youth, to his time in the war. Reinhardt though, he realized with a chill, didn’t know all that much about him. McCree was fairly tight-lipped about his past, as there was a lot of sadness and darkness there. The death of his mother. His time in the Deadlock gang.

Still staring down at the table, he mumbled, “Fine. You’re right. I’ve had a crush on Reinhardt since the very first time I saw him. But you can tell the gamblers that there is nothing going on between us. We are roommates, friends, and colleagues, but nothing more.”

Winston leaned back in his chair, drinking a milkshake.

“Were you ever going to tell him how you actually feel about him?”

McCree straightened up, the flush on his face diminished somewhat.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Every time that I have thought about it, I can’t make myself do it. How would he react? Would he be pleased? Flattered? Disgusted? I don’t know. I value Reinhardt’s friendship immensely, and I don’t want to lose that.”

Winston nodded, considering his friend’s turmoil.

“Those are all valid reasons. Definitely things to be concerned about. I can’t help you with those struggles, as they are something you will need to go through yourself and find the right course of action. There is one thing I can tell you though.”

McCree looked his friend in the eye.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Winston sucked down a large amount of his milkshake before responding.

“I doubt very much that Reinhardt would be disgusted with you, or want to end his friendship with you. Reinhardt came out shortly after he returned to the police force after the war. For a long time, people thought there was something between him and Hanzo, though the both of them always insisted that they were just friends. Take that as you will.”

McCree leaned back into his chair, unsure how to take this information. His efforts to keep a strictly professional relationship with his partner were shaken up by this development. His life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

 

* * *

 

After they had finished up their lunch at the cafe, Reinhardt and McCree returned to the station. McCree kept flashing glances in Reinhardt’s direction, not knowing what to think after what Winston had told him. He should have been relieved, to know that Reinhardt was gay like himself. But still, he said nothing.  _ The case _ , he told himself.  _ Think about the case _ . Maybe there was something he could pursue with Reinhardt, but it would be best to arrive at that conclusion after this case was wrapped up. It would do him no good to present himself with fruitless distractions. And if, for some reason, Reinhardt did not return his affections, it was better to be exposed to that when the pressure of this investigation no longer existed. He tried to convince himself of these things, but he found it extremely difficult to do so as he looked at his partner. He could not suppress the little leaps of excitement he felt as he observed everything about Reinhardt. His muscular physique, the fluidity of his movements as he walked, the coarse, weathered look of his face, and those delightful, stormy gray eyes…

Reinhardt startled McCree out of his thoughts when he said, “So, what were you and Winston talking about?”

McCree responded, coughing slightly, “Well, um...we were just catching up. We haven’t had a lot of opportunity to talk over the last couple of months, what with our investigation into the Shimada, and his work on other cases. He said that there have been a couple of murders recently which have been intriguing, to say the least.”

Reinhardt nodded, and said, “Yes, I’ve heard some things about these murders from some of the other officers here. They’re...unusual. The victims so far are a few gangbangers, from two of the street gangs that have been pushing Dragonfyre.”

McCree’s attention was caught, pushing his tumultuous thoughts about Reinhardt temporarily out of his head.

“Really? What makes them unusual?”

Reinhardt scratched the back of his neck, and then said, “Well, it’s the way they were killed, honestly. Based on what I’ve been told, it looks like they were shot by arrows, and by someone who is a master archer. They are perfect, clean kill shots.”

McCree gave Reinhardt a curious look.

“You’re right. That is odd. Guns are faster, more efficient, when it comes to killing. Who would bother with using a bow and arrow in today’s day and age? It’s also interesting that their targets are street pushers of Dragonfyre. Whoever this archer is, it sounds like they have an issue with Shimada Pharmaceutical.”

Reinhardt shook his head and shrugged, and didn’t say anything more.

The pair walked on in silence until they reached their office. Reinhardt took his key out of his pocket, and slipped it into the lock. His face turned into a frown as he tried turning the key. McCree noticed and asked, “What is it?”

Reinhardt took the key out of the lock and put it back in his pocket. 

“The door is unlocked already. I could’ve sworn I locked it before we left for lunch.”

His hand grasped the doorknob and turned it. They entered their office and looked around, trying to see if anything was out of place. McCree was quick to realize that despite the absolute mess of papers on his desk, there was something there that was definitely not there before. 

He picked up the envelope that was sitting on his desk, analyzing it. It was a standard small mailing envelope, nothing out of the ordinary about it. Reinhardt looked up from his own desk.

“What’s that?” He asked.

McCree replied, “I’m not sure. It was left on my desk, and I didn’t put it there. Someone’s been in here since we left for lunch.” He quickly tore open the envelope, and saw a small note inside.

He pulled it out, and read:

 

‘I know you are at a stop for your investigation of Shimada Pharmaceutical. Want a tip?  Try looking into the abandoned warehouse at  SW Corner of N. Michigan and E. Wacker  Drive. There you’ll find the answers you’re looking for. Sincerely, a friend.’

 

McCree finished reading the note, and looked up at Reinhardt. The older man had a contemplative expression on his face, stroking his beard. McCree asked, “What do you think of this?”

Reinhardt fixed McCree with an uneasy gaze.

“I don’t like it. I’m  _ sure _ I locked the door before we left, which means that whoever placed this note picked the lock. I’m not sure I want to trust the word of someone that is clearly comfortable with trespassing to deliver a message. Why not deliver this note when either of us was here?”

McCree shrugged, and then said, “I don’t know. Maybe they wanted to stay anonymous because it would be dangerous for them otherwise.”

Reinhardt crossed his arms, leaning against his desk.

“I still don’t like it. Something just feels off about this. I think it would be best if that note was ignored.”

McCree felt a brief pang of impatience. Since when was Reinhardt the cautious one about this investigation?

“Reinhardt, this is the first real clue we’ve had in  _ three months _ . The time for caution is not now.  We need to investigate this. Think about it. When you were working with Hanzo, he said that he had a lead that developed around a warehouse, right? It was a warehouse he suspected was the primary distribution point for illicit Dragonfyre, right? Did he ever tell you where that warehouse was?”

His partner frowned.

“No, he didn’t, otherwise the police would have investigated it after his death.”

McCree took this as his opportunity to convince Reinhardt.

“Well, what if this warehouse is the same one that Hanzo was going to investigate before he died? The police have gone through all the locations that Shimada Pharmaceutical have on record as owning, and none of them have been a store for illegal Dragonfyre. Now, if they were using an abandoned warehouse this entire time? Obviously we wouldn’t have made the connection. There are a lot of abandoned warehouses in this city, and we would have no reason to look at them otherwise. Now, are you coming with me, or not?”

Reinhardt hated to admit it, but he could see the logic in McCree’s argument. He still wasn’t entirely convinced about this move, but he could tell from the fiery determination in McCree’s eyes that he was going to investigate this warehouse whether or not Reinhardt went with him. He realized with a painful pang, that Hanzo often had that same look of strong-willed stubbornness that he now saw in McCree. He didn’t agree that this was a smart move, but he would be damned if he was going to let McCree investigate something probably dangerous on his own. Had he gone along with Hanzo when he was making his risky investigation, he might be alive today. He was not going to make the same mistake twice.

Reinhardt let out a long, low sigh.

“I can see that you will not be swayed in this matter. I really don’t like it, but yes. I’m coming with you. Someone’s gotta look after your ass.”

His words were light-hearted, but McCree could see the seriousness in Reinhardt’s eyes. He gave Reinhardt a grateful smile, and said, “Alright, let’s go then. Don’t worry, we’ll be careful.” He walked over to the door and paused, before saying, “Besides, if you’ve got to look after an ass, at least mine is a  _ great _ ass.”

He meant it as a joke, but for a brief moment, he thought Reinhardt looked taken aback, before his stern expression returned. McCree sighed inwardly, thinking he must have imagined it. He walked out the door, with Reinhardt close behind him.

 

* * *

 

It was pretty late by the time they arrived at the warehouse, with the light on Reinhardt’s motorcycle cutting through a light fog that was rolling in from the lake. McCree shivered slightly as he took off his helmet, feeling a brief and chilly breeze come in. It was now mid-September, and the weather was definitely transitioning from the heat of summer to the chill of winter. It would be another month or so before things really got cold, but it was definitely looming on the horizon.

He dismounted the motorcycle, and Reinhardt wheeled it next to a low wall on the street. McCree found himself looking up at the warehouse, an old, decrepit looking building. He turned to Reinhardt, who was walking back after stowing his bike, and said, “It’s a spooky looking place, isn’t it?”

Reinhardt also looked up at the building, and nodded.

“Yes. I still don’t think we should be here.”

McCree replied, “I know. But I really appreciate you being here, all the same.”

Reinhardt sighed, rolling his eyes upward, but McCree saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Even if Reinhardt didn’t agree with them being here, McCree could tell that he was just as excited as he was to  _ finally  _ be doing some real investigation after three months of poring over tedious files.

The two detectives started walking towards the warehouse. The main entrance had been boarded up, with a large sign that said ‘Keep Out – Unstable Structure.’ Not deterred, McCree started searching for an alternate entrance. He circled around to the side, and saw a window opening on the second floor that was missing glass. He called out to Reinhardt, and indicated the opening.

Reinhardt nodded, and he and McCree shifted some boxes and crates to make a makeshift platform up to the window. Reinhardt climbed up it first, and hauled himself through the window. There was a catwalk on the other side of the wall that Reinhardt landed on. He leaned his head back out the window and said, “It’s alright. There’s a catwalk underneath the window. It looks like it goes around to cover the full perimeter of the building.”

McCree gave him a thumbs up to show his understanding, and then he climbed up to the window as well. As he swung himself into the opening, his foot caught the edge of the topmost crate on their makeshift platform, which caused the whole thing to topple over with a crash. McCree pulled himself through the window fully, and Reinhardt turned to look at him.

“What was that noise?”

Somewhat embarrassed, McCree said, “I, uh, may have knocked over our way up here when I pulled myself through the window. It’s OK though, I’m sure we’ll be able to find an alternate exit when we need to.”

Reinhardt sighed, and then shook his head, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. They had gotten in, they might as well start investigating, he thought.

With that, he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket, and clicked it on. McCree did the same. They shined their lights around the interior of the warehouse, trying to see if there was a way down to the first floor.

Reinhardt saw a ladder that lead down to ground level about thirty feet in front of them. He nudged McCree’s arm, and pointed at the ladder. McCree nodded, and the two of them started making their way forward.

They climbed down the ladder, jumping the last couple of feet down onto the floor. The first thought that McCree had was that there were a large amount of boxes and crates for a warehouse that was supposed to be abandoned. He went to the nearest one, and used his flashlight as a brace to crack open the lid.

His anticipation building, McCree pulled the lid off, to find...clothes. This particular box was filled with old, rotting clothes, that were about ten years out of fashion, as best as he could tell. Disappointed, McCree steeled himself. He was  _ sure _ that there was something in this building that would tie the Shimada to this location. He hoped there was, at least.

He and Reinhardt pushed deeper into the warehouse, checking boxes occasionally as they went. The items they found inside were varied, ranging from old clothes to long expired cans of food, to other old consumer goods. Apparently, this warehouse had been some sort of distribution center when it was active, probably for multiple companies that shared the space. But they were not finding anything that could be linked to Shimada Pharmaceutical. 

McCree was rummaging through another crate, and Reinhardt was leaning against a wall.

“McCree.”

McCree peered up at his partner briefly, and continued rummaging in the crate.

“McCree, I don’t think we’re going to find anything here. We really should start looking for a way out.”

McCree stepped back from the crate, and then proceeded to give it a swift kick away from him.

“Fuck! I was  _ sure _ there would be something here. After  _ months _ of just sitting on our asses, we finally had something new to go on! And it turns out, that it, like everything else, is a fuckin’ waste!”

McCree sat down on the warehouse floor, the energy from his temper momentarily abated. He sighed, and rubbed the side of his head. He said to Reinhardt, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. We should probably get the hell out of here.”

Reinhardt nodded, and walked away from the wall he was leaning against, offering his hand out to help McCree up. McCree grasped it, pulling himself back into a standing position. He brushed the dirt and dust off of his pants, and his eyes happened to wander over the wall Reinhardt was just leaning against. 

He noticed something peculiar about it. This particular section looked like it was separated from the rest of the well. That was to be expected in a building that was this old, of course, but there was something about this that looked deliberate. He moved closer to the wall to examine it further. 

Reinhardt walked up to him and said, “What is it?”

McCree turned to his partner and replied, “Reinhardt. Do you notice anything about this wall that looks...off?”

Reinhardt looked closely at the wall, seeing the cracks in the perimeter that had caught McCree’s eye. He ran a hand down the edge of one of the cracks. He frowned.

“I can feel a slight current of air. There’s a space behind this wall.”

McCree nodded, his excitement and anticipation building again. Then he said, “What if this wall is not actually a wall? What if this wall is really...”

“… a hidden door?” Reinhardt finished McCree’s sentence for him.

McCree nodded again, a sly grin building on his face. 

Reinhardt stroked his beard in contemplation. 

“Now, the real question is, how do we open this door?”

McCree answered, “I think there’s a trigger or latch that unlocks the door. C’mon, feel around the edges, see if you can detect a catch or object of some kind.”

They both started working the door over with their hands, trying to find this hidden bolting mechanism. After a few minutes, it was Reinhardt who discovered it. He could feel a protrusion at the bottom of the door that had some give to it.

“McCree, I think I’ve got it. There’s something at the bottom here. Now, if I can just get my fingers in a little more...”

Reinhardt gave a small flicking motion with his fingers, and there was a loud click that echoed through the warehouse. He stood back up, and with an excited glance at McCree, he pushed the door open with a creak.

The pair of them stepped through into the void, shining their flashlights around. This room was filled with crates that were all much newer and in much better condition than the decrepit crates in the other room. Further more, it looked like these crates were organized based on where their contents were supposed to go. There was a section listed for downtown, the lakefront, every district in Chicago. 

McCree walked over to the nearest crate, examining it. It was padlocked shut. He wouldn’t be able to use his flashlight as a shunt like he did on the crates in the other room. He motioned for Reinhardt to step back a bit, and he drew Peacekeeper. Once he felt he was a sufficient distance away, he took aim and fired at the lock. The lock shattered apart on impact with McCree’s bullet. McCree holstered his weapon, and walked over to the crate, Reinhardt right behind him.

McCree placed his hands on the crate and lifted the lid off.

“Reinhardt...take a look at this.”

Reinhardt stepped over and peered inside the crate. Inside were several vials of dark blue liquid, arranged in columns of two, rows of ten. He picked up one of the vials and examined it closely. 

“McCree...I think this is Dragonfyre. I can’t know for sure, Winston would need to take a look at it, but I’m pretty sure that it is. We need to get out of here, and get this back to the station for analysis!”

McCree nodded, and the two started looking around for an exit. Neither of them noticed the figure shrouded in the shadows of the rafters above them. This figure had been watching them from the moment that they entered the warehouse, waiting for them to find the hidden room. Now that they had found it, this figure decided that they had seen enough. 

When McCree and Reinhardt reached the end of the section they were in, the figure pulled the pin out of a grenade and threw it down towards them.

Reinhardt noticed the movement above him out of the corner of his eye, and saw the grenade bounce and roll to a stop in front of them. He recognized it instantly from his time in the war. His eyes widened in shock, and he shouted, “GRENADE!” Reinhardt threw himself at McCree with surprising speed for such a large man, knocking his partner off his feet and sending the both of them crashing through the shelves holding the crates of Dragonfyre. Not a second later, the grenade exploded with a deafening boom. 

The figure above watched the whole thing unfold, and even though he had some frustration that his targets were not killed by the grenade blast, it looked like they were both unconscious after crashing into the shelves.  _ Ah well _ , he thought devilishly.  _ Fire will cleanse everything. Nothing will be left behind. _ Behind the mask he was wearing that covered his face, an evil grin spread wide. He pulled several Molotov cocktails out of his coat, lit them, and threw them into specific areas of the warehouse. The blaze that started on their impact was catching and spreading quickly. The figure popped his collar, looking around impressively at his work. Then, he climbed up a rope that led out one of the skylights of the warehouse and disappeared into the night.

 

* * * 

 

A couple of minutes later, Reinhardt stirred, his head throbbing. He took a moment to recover his surroundings, trying to make sense of the orange and yellow glows around him. He took a deep breath and coughed heavily. Smoke. This was smoke. The warehouse was on fire!

Groaning, he turned toward McCree, trying to see if he was alright. He was lying about a foot away from Reinhardt, not moving. Reinhardt crawled over to him and shook his shoulder roughly.

“McCree! McCree, wake up!”

McCree was still out cold, but he did moan softly. Reinhardt breathed a sigh of relief, which he promptly regretted because of the coughing it caused him. McCree was still alive, that was all that mattered to Reinhardt at this moment. Getting up, he swayed slightly on the spot from the throbbing on his head. Reinhardt put a hand to the back of his head and saw blood when he pulled his fingers back. He must’ve hit the shelf extremely hard. He shook his head. His own injury was not important right now. It was up to him to get McCree out of here.

He crouched down and gently, but swiftly, lifted his partner up and put him on his back in a fireman’s hold.  _ Now, how to get out of here, _ he thought to himself. He saw that the secret door they had discovered was still open and started making his way towards it. As he crossed the threshold, he saw that the whole warehouse was aflame. Whoever had thrown the grenade down at them must have set the fire to cover their tracks and destroy the evidence of Dragonfyre.  _ And eliminate us in the process, _ he thought darkly. At the rate the fire was spreading through everything, the warehouse would not last much longer, he realized. Already he thought he could hear the groaning of the supports as they buckled and warped from the heat.

Reinhardt picked up his pace, desperately moving forward and trying to find an exit from this hell, whilst keeping a secure hold on McCree. From his memory of when they first walked up to the warehouse, he tried to envision where the other side of the blocked off main entrance would be. The room with the Dragonfyre was behind him. Where they came in on the second floor was on the left side of the building externally. He and McCree had turned and walked left to reach the wall with the hidden door. From this reasoning, the main entrance must be somewhere directly in front of him, Reinhardt guessed. It was starting to get difficult for him to think clearly due to the overwhelming heat and smoke clouding his senses. But still, he pushed forward. He was  _ not _ going to die from burning to death. And neither was McCree. McCree. His partner. Friend. No,  _ more _ than a friend, Reinhardt realized. He almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it was, that it had taken something like  _ this _ for him to understand just what McCree meant to him. McCree moaned again, and Reinhardt winced at the sound. “Hold on, cowboy,” he muttered. 

A couple of minutes later, Reinhardt saw what he thought looked like might be the other side of warehouse’s main doors that he had seen from the outside. From what he could tell, they weren’t blocked off on this end, and it looked like they opened outwards. He should be able to kick them open.

Suddenly, there was a loud groaning that Reinhardt could hear over the roar of the fire around him. His blood chilled as he realized that the building was seconds away from collapsing. His slower pace that he had been maintaining since he picked up McCree was forgotten instantly, and he started running like a bull towards the main entrance doors. He switched his hold on McCree, and started leaning into his run with his right shoulder, racing across the ground towards the doors. With a yell reminiscent of his time on the front lines in the war, he threw everything into his right shoulder and crashed through the doors with a great splintering of wood, right as the warehouse collapsed in on itself from behind him with a shuddering roar. 

Reinhardt skidded across the ground, with McCree still on his back. His shoulder hurt like hell, but he didn’t care. They were safe. Slowly, he eased McCree off of his back and onto the ground. He could hear the sirens of firetrucks coming in from some ways off. They would get here before long. He turned to look back at the warehouse. There was nothing left of it to save. All the evidence would be gone, he thought sadly. Brushing his pocket with his hand, he felt a hard object. The vial he had pocketed. Quickly Reinhardt reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial. It was still intact, the dark blue liquid inside undamaged.

He was shocked that it was unharmed, and started laughing with joy, before coughing almost immediately. He sat down on the ground next to McCree, trying to steady his breathing while he waited for the firetrucks to appear. The suit he was wearing was ashen and torn, burned slightly in some places. He looked down at his partner, and he saw that McCree was in much the same way as himself. His face was streaked with ash and sweat, and Reinhardt was seized by a sudden desire to stroke McCree’s face, to clean the grime off of his handsome bearded visage. He reached over and pressed a hand to the side of his partner’s face, holding it gently. Reinhardt contented himself to be like this until the firetrucks finally arrived, their sirens blaring. Sighing, he took his hand away from McCree and stood up to greet the firemen coming out of the trucks. The man in charge saw him, and asked, “What the hell happened here? Who are you?”

Reinhardt said, “My name is Reinhardt Wilhelm. I am the senior detective for the Chicago Police. As for what happened here, well, that is something entirely more complicated. Before we get into that though, can we please get my partner here to a hospital? He’s unconscious, and I think he needs medical attention.”

The fireman nodded, and he called out to the ambulance truck that had arrived with the firetrucks. Two paramedics came out the back with a stretcher, and loaded McCree onto it. Reinhardt sighed as he watched them go, not wanting to lose sight of his partner. He kept his eyes on the ambulance until it rounded the corner, and he couldn’t see it anymore. Then, he turned back to the lead fireman and started explaining what had happened in the fire.

 

* * *

 

McCree woke up with an aching head, his eyes trying to get adjusted to the light. He looked around, confused. He was lying in the bed of a hospital room, with clean, crisp, surroundings. He looked at his bedside table. His holster and Peacekeeper were there, along with his detective’s badge. Carefully he picked up Peacekeeper and checked the chambers. Empty. He guessed that someone had unloaded it, because he distinctly remembered it being loaded the last time he had it. He put it back down on the table and leaned into his pillows with a sigh. What happened to him? He put his face in his hands, trying to remember. He and Reinhardt, they were investigating that warehouse last night, and...his thoughts became hazy. Struggling, he forced himself to remember. Dragonfyre. They had found a hidden room with crates containing vials of Dragonfyre. They had started to leave, and then...there was an explosion...Reinhardt. Reinhardt had knocked him out of the way, and then...he couldn’t remember anything after that. His eyes snapped open again in cold shock. Where was Reinhardt?

“Reinhardt. Reinhardt! REINHARDT!”

His shouts drew the attention of a nurse who must have just been waiting outside. She opened the door to his room, and said with a light Swiss accent, “Good morning, Mr. McCree.” McCree went into analysis immediately, just as habit. She had blonde hair, a thin figure, a face that showed kindness and concern, and a nametag that read ‘RN Angela Ziegler.’ He discarded all of this instantly. He didn’t care who this woman was. There was only one thing that he cared about at the moment.

“Where is Reinhardt? What happened to him? TELL ME, WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?” He honestly didn’t mean to shout, but he was in a state. Angela Ziegler seemed unphased. Perhaps she was used to dealing with unruly patients, because she answered him calmly and easily, “Reinhardt is in the waiting room at the end of the hall. He’s fine. You can see him in a little bit, provided you calm down. Can you do that for me? There are some tests I need to run on you.”

McCree relaxed somewhat. Reinhardt was fine. He was ok. He would be fine as long as Reinhardt was fine. Slowly, he nodded. Yes, he would calm down. He would go through with these tests, as long as he could see Reinhardt, he didn’t really care what they asked of him.

Angela beamed when she saw McCree nod.

“Excellent. Alright, let’s go ahead and get started with these tests. Tell me Mr. McCree, do you feel-”

“McCree.”

She looked up from her clipboard.

“What?”

McCree turned to look at Angela, and then said, “It’s just McCree. You can drop the mister.”

Angela pursed her lips and nodded.

“Alright then,  _ McCree _ , tell me, do you have any pain in your head?”

“Just a regular headache, bit more intense than what I usually experience.”

She nodded and made a note on her clipboard.

“OK. What about difficulties breathing, any issues moving?”

McCree shook his head. 

Angela asked him some other more generic questions about his medical history, to which McCree answered to the best of his knowledge. This carried on for about another ten minutes. She checked his blood pressure, which was slightly elevated but normal. The last thing she said she needed was a blood sample. McCree stuck his arm out without a word. The sooner this was all done with, the sooner he could see Reinhardt.

When she was finished drawing blood, Angela said, “Excellent. I’ll let Reinhardt know that he can come see you now,” and she left the room, closing the door behind her.

McCree sighed, waiting. Less than a minute later, his door opened again, and he turned, looking at his partner’s face, the only thing he wanted to see in the world right now. 

Looking him up and down, he noticed that Reinhardt’s usually impeccable suit was torn in several places, and there were parts that looked singed. His face looked as though it was recently cleaned. McCree’s eyes followed his partner as he crossed through the room, before Reinhardt pulled up a chair and sat right next to McCree’s bed. There was silence between the two of them for several seconds, and then McCree said, “So, what happened last night? I remember the explosion, and you knocking me out of the way, but I don’t recall anything beyond that.” What was that in Reinhardt’s expression? Hesitancy, uneasiness, and...something else. Anxiety? Excitement?

Reinhardt breathed deeply, and then said, “Someone threw a grenade at us. That’s what that explosion was. It was thrown by a figure in the rafters of the warehouse. Someone was watching us the whole time we were in there, from the moment we climbed in. After I threw myself at you to get you out of the way of the grenade, we crashed through a shelf and were both knocked unconscious. When I came to, the warehouse was on fire, likely caused by our mysterious bomber. I hoisted you onto my back as you were still unconscious and weren’t coming around. I carried you out of that warehouse, and we escaped with seconds to spare. The warehouse collapsed behind us right as we left.”

McCree put his head back into his pillow and sighed. So, it was a trap from the start, just as Reinhardt suspected. And all of the evidence was gone. They were once again back to square one. He turned back to his partner and said, “I take it nothing made it out of the fire besides us? All the evidence was destroyed?”

Reinhardt reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

“Well...not all of the evidence. I managed to save this.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the vial of Dragonfyre. McCree had a stunned look on his face, and Reinhardt gave him an uneasy smile as he put the vial back into his pocket. There was silence again for a few seconds. And then, McCree said, “Reinhardt, I’m sorry.”

Reinhardt tilted his head and peered at him curiously.

“Sorry? For what?”

McCree shook his head in shame.

“I should have realized from the start that that note was a trap. I was reckless. I was so desperate for us to have a new lead, I didn’t stop to think of the danger. We both almost lost our lives as a result. I certainly would have, had I gone alone. If you hadn’t been there, to my pull my stupid, stubborn ass out of there...”

“Stop,” Reinhardt said sternly. He was not going to watch McCree berate himself like this. McCree closed his mouth slowly and didn’t say anything else. He turned away from Reinhardt, staring into the wall.

_ He is so perfect _ , Reinhardt thought,  _ and yet also so flawed. Simultaneously strong, and brittle _ . He sighed. If he didn’t tell McCree the truth now, he never would.

“McCree.”

McCree turned and looked back at Reinhardt, looking into the eyes that he had loved from the first time he saw them. Eyes that were now a storm of emotions, he could see.

Reinhardt coughed, and continued on, “There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve known on some level I guess, since the first time I met you, but it really didn’t hit home for me until last night just what losing you would mean to me. Not having you in my life...would not have been bearable.”

McCree looked on, not saying a word.

Reinhardt coughed again and said, “I’ve never been very good at this sort of thing. I don’t know if I can say this any other way,” he took a very deep, shuddering breath, and finished, “I love you, Jesse McCree.”

McCree didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say, for once in his life. He thanked the stars that he wasn’t blushing right now. Neither was Reinhardt, he realized. Reinhardt’s confession was breaking down the wall between them that McCree himself had put up. And still, he said nothing.

Sensing the awkward tension that was building, Reinhardt turned away from his partner so that he would not have to look at him, and he said, “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same way about me, but you deserved to know the truth.” Now Reinhardt was blushing. It was the first time McCree had seen him blush, and it broke his heart how vulnerable it made his partner look. Reinhardt got up from his chair, and was making his way towards the door. McCree started panicking. His brain was screaming at him,  _ say something, anything you big idiot! _ But he couldn’t talk, his throat had gone extremely dry.

Reinhardt’s hand was on the doorknob, and he hesitated, before saying sadly, “I guess I’ll see you around, McCree. You should recover alright.” He started turning the doorknob, and the door opened a fraction.

McCree’s panic was reaching critical mass and he blurted out all at once in an unintelligible blur, “Iloveyoutoo!”

Reinhardt turned to look back at him, his hand still on the doorknob.

“What?”

McCree swallowed, which was difficult due to how dry his throat still was. Then he said slowly, and clearly, “I. Love. You. Too. I always have. From the first time that I saw you, I have been deeply attracted to you. But I was afraid to tell you. Terrified. I had no idea how you would react, no idea how it would affect our friendship, our working relationship, so I buried my feelings. At least, I tried to. The more I interacted with you, the more I got to know you, the harder it became to keep my feelings in check. I’ve been a complete and utter fool, Reinhardt. I should have told you about my feelings for you  _ weeks _ ago. But I do love you. And I always will.”

Reinhardt stood, stunned. Then he closed the door again, crossing the space between it and McCree’s bed in two strides. He stopped at the edge of his partner’s bed, and then did the only sensible thing. He knelt down and kissed McCree fully on his lips, their beards scratching together. 

McCree gasped, and then put his hand on Reinhardt’s neck, drawing him closer. That musky, spicy scent that McCree caught a brief hint of every time he was in close proximity to Reinhardt was now all he could smell. It was glorious, intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of it. It was so purely and truly  _ Reinhardt _ it made him almost want to weep. The feel of Reinhardt’s lips on his own was pure ecstasy, the taste was smoky and sharp, tasting like how pine trees smelled. The feel of Reinhardt’s beard on his face was full, and soft, like a bear rug.

They broke apart to breathe, though their lips still hovered extremely close to each other. Each could feel the ragged breath of the other. Their eyes were soft, content, and warm. Reinhardt found himself getting lost in McCree’s chocolaty brown eyes, reminding him of fires and warmth on cold winter nights. McCree was sinking into Reinhardt’s gray eyes, thinking of the calm right after a summer’s storm. Then, they kissed again, eliminating thought altogether. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, is all I can say, really. This chapter is SUPER long, hence why I have it divided internally into a part 1 and 2. It felt like the right thing to do, because even though I could have split them into separate chapters, I wanted to keep things centrally tied in in one. And I can say for sure, I had a TON of fun writing this chapter! That should be evident, with how big it is (~12,000 words, WTF), and yet how short the time of upload was between this one and chapter 5, lol. That kiss was fantastic, yeah? Don't worry. It gets even better in chapter 7. Oh yes, chapter 7 will be the long awaited super spicy smut chapter! >:) Unfortunately, I won't be able to get started writing it until I get back from the trip I'm on, which will be on the 16th. So, chapter 7 won't be done until AT LEAST a week after that. :( With that, I bid ado. Stay tuned! And as always, thank you to everyone that is following and reading along with this fic! You guys are the best, over 600 hits at time of writing this! WUT
> 
> Update 04/30/2018 - Hey everyone! Just wanted to give a small update. I apologize for the wait, I am writing Chapter 7 but it's proving somewhat difficult for me. It's my first time writing smut, cut me some slack! :P Also, I'm trying to iron out some issues with the setting. Please be patient with me! I don't know when Chapter 7 will be finished, but I'm hoping I can get it to my betas by the end of this week. Oh, and I've changed my name on here to be BearWulf instead of WolfMcCree, for a variety of reasons. *shrug* Thanks for being patient with me during this process! - BearWulf


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree and Reinhardt take leave for a couple of days and head out to a cabin outside the city that Reinhardt's family owns, in an effort to develop their relationship further. They make sweet love to each other, giving in to the other completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm only going to say this once, so it's best that it's here at the forefront. This chapter is almost entirely smut. There is negligible plot development. If you are reading this fic for the story, and are not interested in the following steaminess, then DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER. Skip it, and wait for Chapter 8. Thank you! 
> 
> For everyone else that is eager to dive into my smutty filth, read on, and enjoy. :)

Chapter 7

 

McCree spent another day in the hospital, for standard observation. After what happened in the warehouse, the physicians attending him wanted to make sure that he did not have a concussion. Fortunately, his answer’s to Angela’s questions the day before as well as the results of his bloodwork indicated that there weren’t any other large scale issues.

For McCree though, the waiting was agony. He wanted out of this hospital, especially after what happened the day before. While he and Reinhardt were kissing, Angela had walked in on them, much to their embarrassment. Angela was discreet, and didn’t judge them, but McCree was getting tired of her knowing smile every time she came to check in on him. All he wanted at this point was to be alone with Reinhardt, and continue their interactions of the previous day. Unfortunately for him, after Angela had walked in on them, he hadn’t seen Reinhardt at all. He assumed that Reinhardt was probably explaining what had happened in the warehouse to Morrison, as well as getting the vial of Dragonfyre they recovered to Winston for analysis, but he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wanted nothing more than to feel Reinhardt’s lips on his own again, to hold his firm, muscular body against himself…

“McCree? Are you alright?”

Angela’s voice brought him back to reality. McCree was currently sitting on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, waiting to be discharged while Angela completed a couple more checks. He had his arm extended out for her while she tested his blood pressure.

He looked at her and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just want out of here, that’s all.”

She peered at him over her clipboard of notes and nodded.

“I see. You seemed...distracted.”

 _Goddammit_ , McCree thought to himself. _There’s that smile again_. Summoning a stony look, he avoided answering her statement and said, “Are these tests almost done? Can I go as soon as they’re finished?”

Angela finished writing a note, and clicked her pen. She looked up at him and nodded.

“They are finished. You are free to go. You’re in perfect health, an impressive state after what happened to you in that warehouse. What you and Reinhardt were doing in an old, decrepit warehouse, I suppose I will never know. But please, do be more careful.”

McCree put on his coat and hat, holstered Peacekeeper and put his badge in his pocket. He turned to Angela and said, “Thank you, Angela. Your nursing has been...attentive, to say the least.” With that, he gripped the doorknob and turned it, stepping out into the hallway. He became excited at once, a smile gracing his handsome features as he saw Reinhardt sitting out in the waiting room.

Trying to keep himself from racing out to embrace him, he took a deep breath and composed himself, before walking towards the man he loved. Reinhardt had his back to him, and looked to be reading a book. Slowly, he came up behind him and reached out and put his hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“Hey.”

Reinhardt started, folding up his book as he turned to look at McCree. McCree gazed into his gray eyes, the left slightly clouded from when Reinhardt was blinded. McCree felt as though he could drown in those eyes, and not be happier.

Reinhardt stood up from his chair, grabbing hold of McCree’s hand as he did. He squeezed softly, rubbing his thumb on top of McCree’s wrist. In a low, husky voice, he said, “Why, hello there.”

For a few moments, they kept this position, gazing at each other. Reinhardt broke the silence, and said, “So, I take it you’ve been discharged?”

McCree nodded, replying, “Yes. They finished up their tests, and I am apparently in perfect health. Thought I might have had a concussion, but I suppose it’ll take more than that to knock my brain around.”

Reinhardt chortled, and said, “Yes, I suppose you do have a very hard head.”

McCree smirked, and pulled his partner close so that he could whisper into his ear, “Darling, you haven’t even seen my _hardest_ head,” and kissed Reinhardt’s bearded cheek. McCree took great pleasure in the flush that appeared on Reinhardt’s face, savoring it.

Reinhardt coughed, and tried to recover his composure. Taking his eyes off him for the first time, McCree looked towards where Reinhardt was sitting and saw two suitcases. He looked at Reinhardt again, and asked, “Were you planning on going somewhere?”

Reinhardt coughed again, and rubbed the back of his neck. He shifted his hold on his book, and said, “Well...I’ve been explaining what happened in the warehouse to Morrison, which is why I didn’t come back after yesterday. He was...pretty fucking angry, I’m not going to lie. While you were getting tests run on you here, I was chewed out for a good hour. Eventually, he shouted himself hoarse, and let me explain ourselves. I gave him the vial of Dragonfyre, which he studied for several uncomfortably long minutes. I thought he was going to start shouting again, but he just sighed. Then he did something completely unexpected.”

McCree raised an eyebrow.

“What did he say?”

“Well, he asked when the last time was that I had taken time off. I told him it had been some time, probably a couple of years at least. He said that he wanted me to take a couple of days and take it easy, and to tell you the same. With our ‘traumatic’ event, as he put it, it would be best if we took a couple of days off. Ordered it, actually.” Reinhardt shrugged as he finished this statement, gauging McCree’s reaction.

McCree stroked his beard, a thoughtful expression on his face. While he thought that he and Reinhardt really should be getting back into the fray and continuing on with this investigation, he also had not had a vacation for quite some time. And to spend a couple of days alone with just him and Reinhardt? That was an offer that he didn’t think he could resist.

The man from Santa Fe tipped his fedora up and a playful smirk appeared on his face.

“Alright. Since it doesn’t sound like we have much choice in this matter, and since a couple of days with you sounds _very_ appealing, what were you thinking of?”

Reinhardt smirked in return, as though he could sense what was on McCree’s mind.

“Well, my family owned a small cabin just outside the city, near the lakeshore. It’s a little rustic, there is no electricity, but it is plumbed. Only for cold water though, we’ll have to heat the water ourselves.”

McCree flashed a quick grin, and sidled up to Reinhardt’s side, sliding his hand into the grasp of the larger man.

“I’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

Reinhardt’s eyes smoldered, and a low growl emanated from his throat.

“Why, Detective McCree, if I didn’t know better I would think that you were being...mischievous.”

McCree laughed, and replied, “Maybe. Guess there’s only one way to know for sure, isn’t there?”

The older man chortled.

“Indeed. Come, it’s time we headed out. I’ll get the suitcases.”

Reinhardt reluctantly slid his hand from McCree’s and picked up their luggage with little effort. The pair started walking out of the hospital side by side, and McCree asked, “So, how are we getting there? Your bike is excellent, but it isn’t really equipped to haul luggage.”

Reinhardt grunted, replying, “That’s true. Which is why we aren’t taking my bike. Winston is going to drive us. He was kind enough to stop by a grocery store and get us some basic provisions, such as soap and some canned goods, but I’m hoping that there will be fish at this time of year.”

They both continued on in silence, until they reached Winston’s car in the hospital parking lot. Winston was sitting in the driver’s seat eating a peanut butter sandwich, and he stopped abruptly as he saw Reinhardt and McCree walking towards him. Reinhardt put the luggage down and motioned for Winston to release the trunk latch.

Winston popped the trunk, and Reinhardt loaded the luggage while McCree clambered into the back seat. Winston turned around in his seat and gave his friend a smile.

“Hey buddy. How are you holding up? Heard you got knocked around pretty hard in that warehouse.”

McCree shrugged.

“Yeah, definitely not one of the easier moments in my life. Getting tossed into a shelf was pretty rough, but I’m fine now. Mostly. My shoulder and back is still a little sore.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that you’re ok. Take it easy on this trip, you hear? The force is going to need you and Reinhardt in top condition for when you come back to this case.”

McCree nodded, as Reinhardt slammed the trunk closed and opened the other side door, sliding in next to McCree. Winston turned to Reinhardt and said, “It all fit ok? I know my car doesn’t have the most trunk space...”

Reinhardt laughed.

“Winston, my dear friend, don’t trouble yourself. It’s more than enough that you are taking the time to drive us out to my family cabin.”

Winston gave a sheepish grin, and nodded in acknowledgment. Thus, he started the car, beginning the journey out of the city.

 

* * *

 

McCree found himself staring out the window as the scenery rolled on past them, becoming more and more rural the further out from Chicago they got. According to Reinhardt, it was supposed to be about an hour’s drive from the city center to his family’s cabin. McCree glanced down at his watch. The time indicated that they had been on the road for about half an hour already.

He turned his attention to the surroundings inside the car. Winston was humming the tune to some jazz songs coming in softly from the car’s radio, focused on his driving. Turning his head, McCree gazed briefly at Reinhardt.

The large man was engrossed in his book, a sight that made McCree smile warmly. Reinhardt was usually the depiction of brute force and strength, so the view of him doing something as delicate as reading a book...it was enchanting.

McCree continued looking at his partner for the next couple of minutes, his left arm leaning against the window, supporting his head. Eventually, Reinhardt felt McCree’s gaze upon him, and he peered up from his book, his eyes softening as he looked at the man from Santa Fe.

McCree stretched his right hand out, his palm facing the roof of the car. Slowly, Reinhardt eased his left hand across the distance, joining it with McCree’s. He squeezed it gently, a small smile working its way through his beard. Their hands remained locked for the rest of the trip.

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, after a couple of wrong turns made by Winston, they arrived at Reinhardt’s family cabin. Winston parked right in front of the structure, and Reinhardt and McCree exited the car. Winston stayed inside, leaving the engine running. He would be making the journey back alone the same day, as he needed to be back at the station the following dawn.

McCree got the bags out of the trunk of Winston’s car, while Reinhardt briefly said goodbye to the scientist. Clasping Winston’s hand in a firm handshake, Reinhardt said, “So, you’ll be back to come get us in two days, yes?”

Winston nodded.

“Indeed. I hope you two enjoy yourselves. Wish I had a vacation. Apparently I need to get into a life or death situation and just barely survive the ordeal for Morrison to consider it.”

Reinhardt smiled, but winced at the same time.

“Believe me, I would rather avoid life and death situations. Although, I will admit...had McCree and I not gone to that warehouse, I doubt we would have...you know...come to terms with each other.”

Winston shrugged in response.

“I don’t know. I get the feeling you two would have worked it out. Eventually. Honestly though, the worst thing about all of this is going to be dealing with the drama. I guarantee, most of the officers at the station are going to be gossiping about this development between you two like teenage girls.”

Reinhardt snorted, as McCree stood next to him with the bags in hand.

“Don’t remind me, Winston. I would prefer naturally that we kept our affairs private, but that’s out of the question at this point.”

Winston flashed a devilish grin.

“Yes, it would be difficult to keep it under wraps. Hospital rooms are _generally_ not the most discrete locations.”

Reinhardt rolled his eyes and gave Winston what he considered a light punch on the shoulder, though it was enough to make the man wince and recoil slightly.

“Get out of here then, you hearty bastard! We need to make ourselves at home,” and with that, Reinhardt picked up the bags and headed towards the entrance of the cabin, fumbling with some keys.

Winston laughed, and turned his attention towards McCree.

“You sure you trust this great oaf? I’d hate to come back and find that he buried you somewhere out in these woods.”

McCree smirked and shook his friend’s hand.

“I think I’ll be alright. I trust Reinhardt with my life at this point.”

Winston nodded, and replied, “Your life, yes.” He put the car into reverse and turned it around. Just as he was about to pull away, he remarked, “But do you trust him with your ass? That’s another question entirely.” Before McCree could say a word, Winston drove off, chuckling.

McCree sighed in exasperation and went to join Reinhardt on the porch of the cabin. The cabin was not in the best of condition, which Reinhardt had warned at some point during the car ride. The windows were foggy with dust, cobwebs reaching out pretty thoroughly. There were a few shingles missing from the roof. Apart from that, McCree felt that the place had charm, and besides, Reinhardt had assured him that the interior was in much better shape than the exterior.

With his foot on the first step leading up to the porch, McCree stopped and turned around. The cabin was situated only a couple minutes’ walk away from the lake. It was late in the afternoon and the sunlight was reflecting off the surface of Lake Michigan, giving the waters a clear, crystalline appearance. He breathed in the air, drinking it all in. It was wild, fresh. It was as though the scent that he associated with Reinhardt had sprung to life and become their surroundings. He already knew that this would be a couple of days’ retreat that he would surely not forget.

McCree took a deep breath, and climbed the steps, joining Reinhardt at the door. Reinhardt was going through several keys on a keyring, trying to find the right one. Thus far, he was unsuccessful.

Reinhardt grunted, “You know, perhaps when I asked my mother for the keys to this place, I should have been more specific and said just _the key_.”

McCree looked at his partner with some faint amusement, and suggested a key that looked rather old and beat up.

“Have you tried that one?”

“Yes, of course. It was the first one I tried, and it did not work.”

McCree sighed internally.

“Let me see them,” and took the keyring from his partner’s grasp. He examined the old looking key and the lock in the door. He flipped the key upside down and inserted it into the lock. It was a bit stiff, but it did turn. McCree unlocked the door, pushing it open.

He grinned at Reinhardt, who shrugged and shook his head.

“We’re going to need some firewood, so I’ll get to work chopping. Can you get the cabin in order?”

McCree nodded.

“Sure, partner. This place will be cleaned right up.”

McCree headed into the cabin, while Reinhardt remained outside for the firewood. McCree closed the door of the cabin behind him, taking in the place before him. The cabin wasn’t very large, with a small den/living room with a fireplace, and a kitchen off to the side. A door off the side of the kitchen led to the only bedroom. McCree did note that the fireplace in the living room was reflected in the bedroom, which added to the cozy ambiance of the cabin. Peering into the bedroom, he saw a small bathroom tucked in the corner with a sink and toilet, but no actual bath in sight.

He frowned slightly. McCree had no issue with roughing it and not bathing for a couple of days, but it seemed unusual, if Reinhardt was using this respite as a romantic retreat. He shrugged to himself. He would ask Reinhardt about it later.

McCree spent the next hour busying himself cleaning up the cabin. Most of the furniture was covered in dust covers, and there were some cobwebs here and there, but overall it was in pretty good condition. He moved his and Reinhardt’s suitcases to the bedroom, smirking briefly at the bed, and put their provisions in the kitchen. By this time, it had started to sink into dusk outside, the light turning a soft, orange color.

The detective lit a few candles around the cabin for light. He grunted as he arched his back, listening to the sounds of Reinhardt chopping wood outside. He headed outside to meet up with him, and fully start this couple of days’ reprieve that they had been granted.

McCree could hear the sound of chopping coming from the left side of the cabin. Turning the corner, he called out, “Reinhardt, I’ve cleaned the cabin up, do we have enough firewood...oh.”

Reinhardt was shirtless, sweat glistening on his upper body as he swung an axe, splitting wood logs. McCree found himself entranced as he took in this scene, drinking in the details of Reinhardt’s hefty body. His back, chest, and arms were all covered in a mat of gray hair. He leaned against the axe, wiping his brow with his shirt. Reinhardt turned to McCree and smiled.

“So, how do you like the cabin?”

McCree swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

“Yeah, it’s...it’s really nice. Quite rustic.”

Reinhardt cracked his neck and nodded.

“I’m glad. I wanted this weekend to be something special, for the both of us. Well, I’m all hot and sweaty after chopping the wood. We should have enough to last for these couple of days. I’m going to get a bath going.”

The big man toweled his head off with his shirt, and headed into the cabin. McCree felt a lump of yearning catch in his throat, and he could feel himself starting to stir in his nether regions as well. He followed Reinhardt into the cabin, as he was curious about how Reinhardt was going to prepare a bath.

When McCree passed through the entrance, he found Reinhardt rummaging in the small closet between the living room and bedroom. His partner emerged shortly with a couple of towels. McCree cleared his throat and asked, “So, where is this bath?”

Reinhardt laughed softly, and gave an apologetic smile.

“It’s out back in a separate building, a great big pine tub with a wood fired water heater to heat the water. When my father purchased this property, there wasn’t even that. We bathed by sponge bath the first few times we were here, and then when I was sixteen he had the external bath constructed.” A slight frown appeared on Reinhardt’s face, as he continued, “Sadly, he was only able to enjoy this cabin for a few more years afterward. His health started declining pretty severely by the time I was in my mid twenties.” He hung his head down slightly.

McCree was seized by a sudden urge to embrace his lover, and he strode over to Reinhardt, wrapping his arms around him. Reinhardt wasn’t lying, his body was slick with sweat, but McCree didn’t care. If anything, he relished the feeling.

He held Reinhardt close to him, and Reinhardt returned his embrace. In the months that he had known him, Reinhardt was always tight lipped about what happened to his father. From what little he had told McCree, it hurt Reinhardt too much to discuss anything about time with his father leading up to his death. So, McCree just stood there, not saying a word, but offering his physical comfort, feeling Reinhardt’s bare torso pressed against himself, the heat radiating from his skin.

Reinhardt moved away from McCree slightly, and stared into his eyes with hesitation and shyness. There was a small vulnerability there, and finally he whispered to his partner, “McCree...would you...I mean, could you...”

McCree placed a hand gently on Reinhardt’s face, and said, “Yes?”

Reinhardt coughed, his face starting to flush with embarrassment.

He finally managed to choke out, “Would you stay with me while I bathe? I don’t want...to be alone.”

Silently, McCree nodded. He brought Reinhardt’s head down lower, and kissed him deeply.

They stayed glued at the lips for what felt like an eternity but was in reality only a couple of minutes. Slowly, they eased apart, heading out of the cabin once more. McCree grabbed a couple of the logs that Reinhardt had been splitting, and the pair of them made their way to a small building just behind the cabin that McCree had not noticed previously. Reinhardt was carrying the towels under his left arm, along with some soap that Winston had provided, and opened the door to the bath house, holding it open for McCree as he walked past him. Then he closed the door after them.

 

* * *

 

The bath house was about the same size as the living room in the cabin, but it was obvious that it was a newer structure as it looked to be in slightly better repair overall than the cabin. McCree felt that it was rather cozy on the inside, with the exceptionally large pine tub tucked in a corner. The wood burning water heater was situated next to the tub. On the other side of the room was a small divider to allow some privacy while someone changed.

Reinhardt slipped behind the divider, only his head peeking above it as he stripped down. McCree placed the logs he was carrying into the heater and lit it. The design of it would allow water to flow continuously into the tub once it had warmed up some. There was a chair near the door of the bath house so that someone could wait in comfort while their bath warmed up. McCree eased himself into the chair and relaxed.

Before long, Reinhardt emerged from the divider wearing nothing but one of the towels that he had brought. The sight caught McCree’s attention immediately, and his face flushed. Reinhardt was even more muscular than he had previously thought. Even though he had been living with the man for months now, he had never really seen Reinhardt in a state of undress. As Reinhardt checked the heater’s temperature gauge, McCree’s eyes wandered up and down his body, drinking in everything that he saw. Every hair, each curve of a muscle. His gaze roamed downwards. Though Reinhardt had tied the towel around his waist fairly loosely, it did little to hide the shapely and chiseled appeal of his ass. McCree thought he could also see the traces of Reinhardt’s large bulge from the front side of the towel.

McCree felt the all too familiar burn of desire that Reinhardt had drawn out of him since the first day they had met. This time was different, though. McCree felt that this primal need would finally be quenched, so long as he could play his cards right.

When Reinhardt was satisfied that the temperature of the water was sufficiently hot, he started to fill the tub, steam clouding the room. When the tub was filled up almost all the way, he turned off the faucet, and he turned to McCree.

“McCree...could you turn around, just for a moment? I’m going to get in now.”

McCree would have rather ripped the towel off of Reinhardt, but he was unsure of the pace that Reinhardt wanted to proceed with their relationship, so he conceded and turned around.

With McCree’s back turned, Reinhardt removed the towel and placed it on a small shelf next to the tub. Slowly, he eased himself into the hot water, gasping as his body became accustomed to the change in temperature. When he was fully submerged, a small groan of relief emerged from his lips. Sighing, he said, “Alright. I’m in.”

McCree turned back around and beheld the site of Reinhardt in the tub, eyes passing greedily over this display. He crossed over to his lover, and placed his hands on Reinhardt’s shoulders.

Reinhardt looked over his shoulder curiously, and asked, “What are you doing?”

Slowly, McCree started massaging his shoulders, saying in a low voice, “Shhhh, darling. Do you have any idea how tense your shoulders are since you chopped the firewood? They’re so _thick_ and _knotted_. Actually, when was the last time that you got a massage?”

Reinhardt didn’t say anything, just moaning softly.

McCree continued kneading his shoulders, the steam from the bath causing a light sheen of sweat to appear on Reinhardt’s skin. When McCree was thoroughly satisfied that Reinhardt was completely relaxed, he leaned down, brushing his beard next to Reinhardt’s ear. In a low, husky growl, McCree said, “Reinhardt...you are the _most sexually invigorating_ man I have had the pleasure to meet. I want to extend that pleasure, and enjoy it fully with you.”

Reinhardt turned his head, so that he was looking into McCree’s eyes. Those rich, warm eyes the color of fine chocolate were sparking with heat and desire. Reinhardt leaned in and kissed McCree with heat of his own, brushing his tongue against McCree’s mouth. When they broke apart for air, Reinhardt growled, “I want you in this fucking tub with me. _Right goddamned now._ ”

McCree nodded, his face flushed with the heat of the room, and the heat of a more primal nature. He stepped back from the edge of the tub, peering briefly around the room. The lone window showed that the sun had almost completely set beyond the horizon. Soon, the only light in the bathhouse would be the soft glow coming from the heater.

With Reinhardt’s eyes on him, never wavering, McCree started to strip down. He removed his shirt and tossed it to the side, revealing his own chest with nipples erect like knife-points, covered in hair like Reinhardt but with a soft brown coloration. He had his own muscles to show off, in his arms and pecs, but McCree’s belly had gone to seed over the last few years. His stomach displayed a hefty, but not unhealthy, paunch. There was no six pack to be seen here. For the briefest of moments, he felt slightly self-conscious, unsure of what Reinhardt thought.

Reinhardt dispelled McCree’s concerns when he growled deeply, nodding in approval at the form of the man before him, his arms spread on the edge of the tub. McCree could feel himself getting hard, as he observed the man he loved, the moisture glistening off Reinhardt’s body, dripping teasingly from his beard and face. McCree continued to strip down, meticulously taking off his pants and kicking them to the side. Only his socks and underwear remained, the latter of which doing little to conceal the growing bulge of McCree’s member.

His face flushed and feeling light-headed, McCree pulled his socks off and threw them into the same corner that the rest of his clothes had occupied. His hands moved down towards his underwear, as if to pull them off, but before he had even touched them, Reinhardt said, “Stop.”

McCree looked up at him, perplexed.

Reinhardt continued, with a small sigh, “I had my towel on when I entered the tub, and you turned your head, per my earlier request. You didn’t get a chance to see me in my entirety. It hardly seems fair that I get to see all of you, and yet you have had to rely on your imagination. I think I ought to remedy that.”

With that, before McCree could say a word, Reinhardt stood up in the tub, displaying all of himself for McCree to see. McCree’s jaw dropped, his mouth agape. What was before a steadily growing erection now felt painfully restricted as his cock moved to full attention.

Streams of water ran down Reinhardt’s body. McCree’s eyes trailed steadily, slowly, downward. Reinhardt’s chest, his stomach, and finally with a jerk of his vision, McCree settled on Reinhardt’s cock. His cock was large, likely about ten inches, the tip of the head barely peeking out from Reinhardt’s foreskin. It was throbbing, fully erect, with a drop of clear liquid oozing from the slit that McCree knew very well was not water. Reinhardt’s balls dangled lazily, large and plump. The whole package was nestled in a thick, gray bush of hair that McCree wanted nothing more than to bury himself in.

Reinhardt stood with his arms spread, clearly awaiting McCree’s judgment.

McCree was at a loss of what to say. His throat had gone dry, and despite his attempts to re-moisten it, he could not speak. When he did find his voice, he said in a tone dripping with vigor, “My god. I have been on this earth for almost forty years, and I have seen many things of beauty. Absolutely fucking _none_ of them compare to the _gorgeous_ sight before me.”

Reinhardt smirked, licked his lips, and said, “It’s your turn now.”

Without another word, McCree ripped off his underwear, his own cock springing forward and bouncing against the trail of hair on his stomach. His penis was not nearly as large as Reinhardt’s, measuring in at about seven and a half inches, but Reinhardt did not seem to care. On the contrary, Reinhardt was looking at McCree’s cock with an expression that would not have been out of place on the face of a wolf moving in for the kill.

McCree clambered over the edge of the tub, slipping as he eased himself in. Reinhardt caught his arm to steady him, and pulled him to himself. Once McCree had found his footing, he stood in front of Reinhardt. Slowly, he stretched his arms around Reinhardt’s body, the space between them shrinking until their cocks were almost touching. Reinhardt looked at McCree with smoldering desire in his gaze.

In a voice thick with heat, Reinhardt said, “Turn around.”

McCree did as he said, and Reinhardt grabbed the soap that was next to the tub, lathering it up in the water. McCree shivered when he felt Reinhardt’s large, calloused hands start scrubbing him. Reinhardt worked meticulously, cleaning every bit of McCree’s body. His expert hands washed his shoulders, neck, and hair. McCree felt himself easing back against Reinhardt’s towering figure, feeling a sense of deep calm and safety. Reinhardt briefly handed McCree the soap so that he could wash his face.

McCree cleared away the suds with a splash of water, and gave the soap back to Reinhardt. With deft movements, Reinhardt proceeded. He scrubbed McCree’s chest, feeling the coarseness of hair beneath his fingers, running his hands gently over the younger man’s nipples. McCree moaned with pleasure at Reinhardt’s touch.

Slowly, Reinhardt’s hands moved lower, pausing on McCree’s lower back.

He breathed in McCree’s ear, “Is this alright?”

McCree nodded, voice barely above a whisper, “Yes.”

Reinhardt nuzzled the back of his neck affectionately, and then continued on. His hands moved beneath the water’s surface, moving back and forth over McCree’s ass. As Reinhardt cleaned him, he purred in McCree’s ear, “You know, you said once that if I had to look after an ass, at least yours was a great ass. I’m inclined to agree. It’s supple, yet firm, and when we get out of this tub, I greatly look forward to exploring it in _all_ of its entirety.”

McCree laughed softly.

“Darlin’, if I didn’t know better, I would say that you were trying to butter me up.”

Reinhardt knelt down in the water, washing McCree’s legs now, resting his chin on McCree’s lower back.

“Hmm. Is it working?”

McCree chortled again.

“You’re goddamned right it is.”

Reinhardt smiled through his beard. He motioned for McCree to sit down in the water, and when he was comfortable, Reinhardt knelt down in front of him. Keeping his eyes fixed on McCree, Reinhardt placed his hands on McCree’s thighs, the soap held in his left palm. He was waiting for McCree’s permission to proceed, to touch his cock. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, McCree nodded.

Reinhardt returned his nod, and lathered the soap up again underneath the water. Slowly, achingly, he started washing McCree’s nether region. His hands moved deftly, gently over McCree’s balls, fondling them carefully. McCree gritted his teeth, trying, yet failing, to keep his moans of pleasure muted. With his hands soapy, Reinhardt started to stroke McCree’s cock. He moved slowly at first, and then gradually increased the speed he was applying. McCree started bucking against his hand, and he pulled Reinhardt’s face to his own, giving him a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

With the taste of his partner on his lips, Reinhardt briefly let go of McCree’s cock. McCree gasped in surprise.

“Reinhardt, what are you-oh, fuck.”

Reinhardt moved in closer to McCree, until his cock was touching McCree’s. McCree was in ecstasy, feeling the heat of Reinhardt’s girth. The larger man started rubbing their cocks together, frotting them with passion.

Every stroke was bringing McCree closer and closer to release until finally…

“Reinhardt! I’m gonna cum, I’M GONNA FUCKING CUM!”

Reinhardt gave a low growl in response.

“Do it, mein Bärchen! Spread your seed with me!”

McCree roared as he came, his cock spurting in Reinhardt’s grasp. The feel of McCree’s semen on his cock was too much for Reinhardt, who moaned with pleasure and lust as he came as well. Their cocks were both a thorough mess, dripping. When they were finished, the men sat there, breathing heavily, staring into each other’s eyes, the vision of both men clouded with lust. McCree looked down and saw that Reinhardt’s cock was rock hard still. McCree reached through the water and grasped Reinhardt’s cock like how Reinhardt held his own member at the start. Reinhardt groaned and bit his lip.

McCree said huskily, “This isn’t over. I’m going to scrub you clean with that fucking soap, and then we are going to fucking _ruin_ that bed in the cabin.”

Reinhardt gave a rumbling growl of approval.

 

* * *

 

A short time later, McCree and Reinhardt had made their way back to the cabin, both thoroughly cleaned and washed. The night was chilly and cold, and they only had the towels they brought with them for warmth. This didn’t matter too much, as they held onto each other to provide warmth that coverings could not.

When they entered the cabin, they headed straight for the bedroom. McCree threw his clothes from the day into a corner and clambered onto the bed, his cock lying lazily against his thigh. Reinhardt quickly lit a fire in the fireplace, as McCree watched. The way that light was playing off of Reinhardt’s body, the glow of the fire illuminating every hair, it was almost a magical experience.

Reinhardt dusted his hands off, and feeling McCree’s eyes on him, he turned to his partner and said, “Just what are you staring at, mein Bärchen?”

McCree’s eyes roamed over Reinhardt, his face, his chest, lingering a moment longer than necessary on his cock, before looking at Reinhardt in the eyes again.

“The most beautiful sight this life has to offer, that’s what.”

Reinhardt smiled warmly, his eyes gentle and soft in the firelight’s glow. Slowly, he made his way up to the bed, and climbed in. He knelt above McCree, his arms spread on either side of his body. Reinhardt looked down at his partner, and said, in a quiet, husky voice, “McCree, meeting you has been the happiest experience of my life. I want to confirm that happiness and make love to you, enthrall you to the fullest. Will you allow me this pleasure?”

Speechless, McCree swallowed, and nodded. Without breaking eye contact, Reinhardt said, “You are sure? If you want me to stop, say so, and I will, no questions asked, you have my word-”

He was interrupted by McCree leaning up and planting a full kiss on his mouth. Reinhardt moaned into McCree, closing his eyes. After several seconds, McCree retracted, holding his hand on Reinhardt’s neck.

“Reinhardt,” he said, staring into his gray eyes, “You won’t hurt me, I assure you. Trust me, I can take that glorious cock of yours. Do it.”

Reinhardt nodded, and went to work. He started kissing McCree’s body, running his hands over his partner. Each small motion, each action, Reinhardt elicited a response from his partner. He found himself cherishing the gasps coming from McCree, as he moved lower and lower down his body.

Finally, he reached McCree’s cock, and gave it a light lick, staring into McCree’s eyes. McCree’s face was flushed, and he was biting his lower lip, attempting to stifle the groans of pleasure. Reinhardt moved his face across his partner’s girth, the feel of his beard causing McCree to slowly come undone. And then, Reinhardt started gently kissing and caressing. McCree didn’t know what to think as Reinhardt rolled his balls on his tongue, and even less so when the older man engulfed his length completely.

McCree tilted his head back, a lust-filled sigh escaping his lips. The pressure, the warmth of Reinhardt’s mouth, the wonders of movement his tongue was doing...it was sheer, carnal, pleasure. Just as he felt himself getting close, Reinhardt lifted off of him, McCree’s slick, drooling cock sliding lazily out of Reinhardt’s mouth. McCree almost whined at the sudden lack of pressure, but he realized what Reinhardt was about to do, and stayed silent.

Reinhardt gave McCree a smirk, and told him to roll over onto his stomach. McCree did so, his ass raised, back arched. Reinhardt slowly caressed his cheeks, massaging them, then spreading them apart ever so gently. Reinhardt leaned in close to McCree’s puckered hole, breathing softly on it. McCree was twitching in anticipation, and then he felt Reinhardt’s mouth on him. He let out a gasp, and said, breathlessly, “Reinhardt...fuck, Reinhardt...”

Reinhardt skillfully licked and kissed McCree’s entrance, wetting it to the best of his ability. When he was satisfied, Reinhardt moved to the side of the bed and opened the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a small bottle of lube that he had bought before their arrival to the cabin. Reinhardt closed the drawer, and turned his attention back to his partner.

The older man spread a small amount of lube on his fingers, rubbing them together. Slowly, he took his index finger and guided it into McCree. McCree groaned, “It’s...cold. And big. Is that your dick?”

Reinhardt chuckled softly.

“No, Bärchen. That is only a finger. The real treat is yet to come.”

McCree sighed.

“Put...put another one in.”

Reinhardt teased his entrance with his middle finger, swirling it in a circle around it.

“Are you sure?”

Slowly, McCree nodded his affirmation.

Reinhardt bent down and kissed the small of McCree’s back.

“Very well then.”

He complied with his partner’s wishes, and guided his middle finger in with the first. Slowly, he pushed in and out, letting McCree get used to the pressure and length of his fingers. After a couple of minutes, McCree grunted into the pillow something that Reinhardt could not hear.

“What was that?”

McCree lifted his head up and turned to look back at his lover.

“I said...I want your cock in me, and I want it now. I want to be looking at you as you fuck me senseless.”

Reinhardt clucked his tongue softly.

“So demanding. How fortunate that I am just as accommodating. Are you absolutely sure you want this? You can still turn back.”

McCree was nearing the end of his rope in patience. He scooted forward enough that Reinhardt’s fingers slid out of him, and then he rolled onto his back. He lifted his legs up, exposing his hole to Reinhardt. Reinhardt let out a growl of approval as he took in this magnificent, erotic, sight.

McCree said, “Fuck me now, goddammit, you great big burly tease.”

Reinhardt chortled. He started spreading lube on his cock, and then slowly, easily, he pressed himself against McCree’s entrance. McCree gritted his teeth in anticipation. Reinhardt was taking his time as he eased himself in carefully, letting McCree adjust to him. Then…

“It’s in all the way. Your ass, it is _delightful_ ,” Reinhardt purred to his lover.

McCree believed him. He felt a fullness deep inside him, the warmth of Reinhardt’s length stoking a fire within him. His own cock was throbbing, the hardest he had ever felt it in his life. With care, Reinhardt started thrusting back and forth. McCree moaned in lustful pleasure as he felt the shifting pressure inside him.

For a few minutes, McCree and Reinhardt kept a locked gaze upon each other, the smoldering fire of sex burning between them. McCree placed a hand on Reinhardt’s arm, wanting to maximize the touch between them. Reinhardt was growling and grunting with each thrust, actions that were slowly ramping up.

Reinhardt started stroking McCree’s cock, and McCree quickly grabbed his hand, stopping him. Reinhardt looked at him curiously, and McCree shook his head, breathing out, “No...just...fucking.” His partner nodded, and resumed his previous pace.

McCree couldn’t recall the last time that he had felt this much pleasure. Every thrust from Reinhardt hit just the right spot inside him that was making the heat behind his cock grow ever more. With the grunts from both parties, the smell of sweat and sex, the overall romantic ambiance and lighting set by the burning fire, it was pure ecstasy. McCree knew that he wasn’t going to last long, and based on the ever increasing rapidity from Reinhardt, the older man was close as well.

Finally, with a deep, low, growl that set the hairs on McCree’s arms on end, Reinhardt said, “McCree. I’m close. I’m _really_ fucking close, and I want to release inside of you.”

With just as husky a growl, McCree replied, “Me too. Do it, cum with me, unleash your seed deep inside me! FUCKING CUM WITH ME, REINHARDT!”

At that moment, both McCree and Reinhardt roared, as they released. McCree’s cock spurted wildly, coating both their stomachs in hot sticky sperm. Reinhardt erupted inside of McCree, filling him with his semen. Moments passed, both breathing heavily. Reinhardt slowly pulled his glistening, greasy cock out of McCree, cum oozing out of him. He then proceeded to kiss McCree deeply, their tongues brushing over each other, exchanging saliva. McCree moaned softly, and swallowed. The kiss was interrupted, and Reinhardt wore a sly, devilish grin on his expression.

McCree said, with a grin on his own face, “Filthy. You are a fucking _filthy_ man.”

Reinhardt kissed his forehead gently, and said, “You revel in it.”

McCree punched his arm lightly, rolling his eyes, but there was a warmth in them.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Reinhardt chuckled lightly again, patting McCree’s thigh gently. He got up off the bed and headed into the hall to get a towel out of the closet. He came back and started cleaning up himself and McCree. Once all their shared semen was cleared away, he threw the towel in a corner, and settled himself under the covers.

McCree did the same, and nestled himself against Reinhardt. He cuddled him, the breathing of both men getting deeper and more relaxed. McCree felt a lump in his throat form as he felt his body pressed against Reinhardt’s. He had never been happier, but there was a small part of him that was casting doubt on his thoughts. He had been trying desperately to put his past behind him, but the time that he had spent with the Deadlocks was coming back to the forefront of his mind. Reinhardt was so good, so pure of heart. Could McCree really put his past on the man he had his arms wrapped around? Would Reinhardt accept it? Could he come to terms with the darkness in McCree’s past, the shadows in his heart? McCree did not know. Now wasn’t the time for him to find out. One day, soon, he would tell Reinhardt exactly what happened in his undercover mission with the Deadlocks. Whether or not their relationship could cope with that, he did not know, but it was the right thing to do. If he and Reinhardt were going to be together, there could not be secrets between them.

Reinhardt must have sensed some bit of tension coming from McCree, because he turned over and peered softly at his lover. He intertwined the fingers of his left hand with McCree’s right, holding them gently.

“Are you alright, mein Bärchen?”

McCree nodded.

“Yes, I’m fine. I love you, Reinhardt. I want you to know that. This experience, taking me out to this cabin, everything that’s happened tonight, it’s brought warmth and happiness to my life in a way I didn’t think I would ever see again. Thank you.” He kissed Reinhardt softly on the lips. Reinhardt smiled, and McCree returned his smile. His complicated past would be discussed between them, but not tonight. They stayed like that, holding each other in the firelight underneath the soft covers of the bed, until they both fell asleep listening to the sounds of each other’s soft breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things definitely got hot and heavy, didn't they? :P I apologize for the large delay between this chapter and chapter 6. It really didn't help that I was unable to write for two weeks straight in April due to my trip that I took, and then when I came back to work, everything was on fire and terrible for several days. So, yeah. Life, it's a thing. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this smutty frenzy that I presented in this chapter. :D Chapter 8 should hopefully be out before the end of June. I'm aiming to complete this fic before its year anniversary in October, so I am really going to try and make sure I get at least one chapter out each month. Thank you everyone for your patience with this fic, patience with me, and I hope you all have a pleasant day!
> 
> Oh, I should probably forewarn that there will be more smut in chapter 8, but most of the chapter will be plot development. Just a heads up. :P
> 
> Ah, and the German translation: Bärchen means 'little bear' in German, and is a term of endearment and affection
> 
> Update: 07/06/2018 - Hey everyone! I apologize for there not being an update on Deadlock for a while. Literally my entire month of June was spent in getting ready to move out, packing, stress from work, more packing, more work stress...you get the idea. I honestly just didn't have any time to write throughout June. That's different now. I have been living in my apartment for almost two weeks, and things have settled down a little bit. I'm currently writing Chapter 8, and it should be out relatively soon. I'm not going to give a hard date, because I have shown time and time again that I am really bad at hitting those hard dates I set for myself. The only thing I will say is that Chapter 8, and Chapter 9, should both be out this month. Chapter 10 will be out in August, and Chapters 11 and 12 should be out in September. If things change, which they inevitably will, Chapter 12 will likely be pushed to October. After that, I'm not sure where I want to go in terms of fic writing. Having played Detroit: Become Human recently, I would LOVE to do a fic for that, but I fear by the time I get around to it, it wouldn't be as relevant. We'll see. Anyway, that's enough of my rambling. Hope you're all having a great summer, if you're in the northern hemisphere! Oh, one last thing. This isn't really the most efficient method of me getting updates across, so I am creating a Twitter account for updates in the future. I will make another note here when that's ready to go live. Thanks again to everyone that has taken a look at this fic, and has stuck with me throughout it, you guys are the best!
> 
> Update 07/07/2018 - So, my Twitter is launched! Still a work in progress in regards to the cover art, but it's suitable as it is for getting updates to you guys quickly. It's @BearWulf3. Cheers!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reinhardt and McCree are enjoying some limited time together at a local cafe. Reinhardt voices questions about the stability of their relationship, questions that force McCree into telling Reinhardt about his past. McCree explains to Reinhardt about what exactly happened while he was undercover with the Deadlocks, and how he feels it makes him an irredeemable monster. Reinhardt consoles him. A new enemy reveals himself.

Chapter 8

 

It was mid-October, and Chicago was in the throes of fall. The streets were filled with the swirling colors of red, orange, and yellow leaves caught in the chilly breezes. It was a scene of beauty and serenity, markers of change.

McCree was sitting outside a cafe, warming his hands with a mug of coffee. He peered up from his beverage, staring at the city around him. His soft brown eyes took in the vistas of Chicago. A cold wind rustled the air, blowing across his face, penetrating his beard. He shivered slightly into the scarf that he had wrapped around his neck.

Coming from Santa Fe, he was not used to the temperatures ever getting this cold, and he knew that things would only get worse as the city got closer to the bitterness of winter. He considered himself lucky that he had someone who could provide him with warmth and closeness through these cold months, as he stared at Reinhardt. The large man was still inside the cafe, finalizing his order, and McCree was aching for his touch, to slip his hand into Reinhardt’s massive bear-like paws.

It had been three weeks since McCree and Reinhardt had been to the cabin. When they had returned to the force, things kept cropping up that were making it difficult to have any time together. The Shimada investigation had hit a pause, with the street supply of Dragonfyre dwindling after the warehouse burned down to the ground. Both McCree and Reinhardt didn’t think it was the end of it, but rather that the people actually in charge of the distribution had realized that things had gotten dangerous. As a result, they were being cautious.

It frustrated McCree. He knew that the work he and Reinhardt were doing was making great headway, but with the streets growing devoid of Dragonfyre, the leads that they had were running dry. There was only one that had as of yet not been followed up on, and that was confronting Emily about her mysterious source. McCree tapped his fingers against his mug, lost in thought.

Both he and Reinhardt had brought it up to Morrison on at least three different occasions, but the police chief was adamant about not following up on it. Morrison was convinced that it was still too early to pursue it, and that they needed to wait for the right opportunity to follow it up. So, in the meantime, he and Reinhardt had been temporarily reassigned, doing a lot more street detective work. In the past week alone they had dealt with four petty thieves and a case of domestic abuse. All were resolved. It was almost too easy for his and Reinhardt’s abilities, and he found himself craving to get back on the Shimada case.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing. Even though the cases they had been working lately had all been quick and easy, it still kept them busier than McCree would have liked. Though they shared the same bed in the apartment now, Reinhardt and McCree had not slept with each other since the weekend at the cabin. Although, McCree had to admit to himself, that part of this was definitely due to the fact that he had been closing himself off from Reinhardt. McCree still had not told his partner about his history with the Deadlocks, and he was terrified to.

Reinhardt hadn’t said anything directly about it, but McCree could tell it in other ways. His body language was a little more tense than it had been previously, and the way he responded to McCree’s statements were slightly more abrupt.

McCree took a quick drink from his coffee mug. _Soon_ , he told himself. His thoughts were interrupted by the tinkling of the cafe’s door bell. Reinhardt had emerged with a large cup of tea, and a plate filled with cinnamon rolls. The older man settled himself onto the seat across from McCree, and fixed his partner with a warm, though somewhat distant, stare.

McCree smiled at him.

“Hey.”

Reinhardt returned his smile with a grin of his own.

“Hello mein bärchen.” He gestured at the plate of rolls, saying, “I got these for us. Thought it would be nice for us to enjoy something sweet and warm during this cold chill. I hope you like cinnamon.”

McCree grabbed a roll and bit into it. It was warm and soft, sweet and gooey. Much like the man who had gotten them.

“Y’know Rein, you certainly know the way to my heart. It’s through my stomach, apparently. This is delicious. Thank you for getting these.”

Reinhardt gave his partner a weak smile, and quickly averted his gaze. He instead focused his attention on his tea.

A few minutes of silence passed between them, until…

“McCree...Jesse,” said Reinhardt.

McCree paused, swallowing. Slowly, he set his roll down and wiped his mouth off with a napkin.

“Rein? What is it?”

Reinhardt lifted his eyes back to him, and McCree saw a haze of worry reflected there.

“Are you...are you happy? With me?”

McCree sighed. _Shit,_ he thought to himself.

“Reinhardt, of course I’m happy with you. There isn’t a person on this earth I would rather be spending my time with.” He reached out his hand and held Reinhardt’s fingers. Reinhardt did not enclose his grasp like he usually would.

Now it was Reinhardt’s time to sigh.

“Then why have you been so distant with me? You were so content that weekend at the cabin, and I never felt closer to you than when we made love. Since then though...I don’t know. You haven’t been talking to me as much, we sleep in the same bed each night but though you are physically close to me, I feel like we are separated. It isn’t the most important thing, but I have been kind of surprised that you’ve turned me down for sex in the weeks since the cabin. With what happened that weekend, I thought you would want more, more of _me_.”

McCree stayed silent, not saying a word.

With a deep breath, Reinhardt pressed on.

“Was it me? Did I hurt you that time? Is that why you’ve been hesitant, are you afraid I’ll hurt you again? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry, I’m deeply sorry. You know I would not hurt you intentionally, and if us making love causes that...” Reinhardt trailed off into nothing.

“Or is it something else? Is there something about me? Am I doing something that’s hurting you right now? If so, please tell me, and I swear, I’ll work on it, I’ll fix it...I’ll...” He slowly closed his mouth into silence.

McCree took a great, shuddering breath. _There’s no getting around this,_ he thought, _I have to tell him._

Slowly, McCree shook his head. He placed both of his hands on Reinhardt’s, and looked him directly in the eyes.

“No, Reinhardt. You didn’t hurt me. The only person inflicting pain here is myself. I’ve been hurting myself inside, a little bit each day, ever since that weekend. And I’ve been hurting you by keeping this to myself. What I’m about to tell you, I haven’t told anyone else. And I haven’t told you already because I’m a selfish prick that can’t bear to see you think less of me, or to lose you forever. But that doesn’t matter. You deserve to know the truth.”

He drew his hands back and exhaled a long, drawn-out breath.

“There’s a reason why my last case in Santa Fe was classified.”

Reinhardt raised an eyebrow.

“When you were undercover with the Deadlocks? The case that pushed you towards relocation?”

Slowly, McCree nodded. He drank some more of his coffee, then continued on.

“Two years ago, my old chief approached me with a preposition. He asked me if I would be willing to go undercover in a long term sting operation to expose the Deadlocks and bring them to justice. I had already established myself as a detective by this point, and I thought this would be nothing more than the next challenge. Eagerly, I agreed.”

McCree sighed, a look of pain in his eyes.

“I was wrong. The next year of my life was the worst and most painful period that I have yet experienced. First, there was the preparation. In order to make myself convincing for the Deadlocks, I had to appear to cast off everything and everyone I loved, so that I could seem truly ruthless.”

McCree took another breath.

“The only person who knew the truth, besides the chief, was my dad. I couldn’t bring myself to lie to him, and the chief understood that. I told him that I would be going deep cover, and that there would be no contact from me for months, maybe even a year or more, depending on how long it took me to crack the case. My dad, he looked me dead in the eye, and he said, ‘Son, you do what you need to. The Deadlocks have been a menace in this town for long enough, and if anyone can gather the information to bring them down from the inside, I believe that it’s you. Jesse, I just want you to promise me one thing. Don’t become them.’”

He looked up at Reinhardt, gazing into his face. Reinhardt’s expression was impassive, as he drank his tea, listening to McCree’s story.

McCree looked back down at the table, slightly abashed. He took a swig of his coffee, before continuing.

“I asked him, ‘What do you mean, don’t become them? I would never be like those horrible people! This is all for justice, dad!’ And, he said, ‘What I mean is, don’t lose yourself on your path to bring them to justice. Exposure to situations like this can lead to previously untapped cruelty and evil. Just keep this in mind, my son.’ I left his house that night and started the preparations in full force for my mission. Eventually, enough time had passed, and I had been responsible for some minor crimes that had garnered me some street cred with the Deadlocks. I infiltrated them, and for the next six months, I gathered information on their operations. One ‘benefit,’” McCree wrinkled his nose as though he smelled something foul, “of my being undercover was that I was abdicated from any responsibility for crimes, short of murder. Theft, injury, even sexual assault. It was all deemed by the Santa Fe police department and city council that these actions I took, if I took them whilst undercover to avoid suspicion, would be outweighed by the benefits of the information I presented.”

He drained the rest of his coffee in one go, and set his cup down with somewhat more force than he intended, chipping the bottom.

“It was a dark time for me, definitely. It appalled me, and disgusted me, everything that the Deadlocks did. The lives that were ruined by their gang operations. They robbed banks, they robbed individuals on the street, there was a sex slave trade that they ran. Dozens of young boys and girls that they had pulled off the street, lying to them and saying that they would be getting a better life, before forcing them into prostitution. They tied this in with a drug trade on the side, and got these poor kids irreparably addicted. It was awful.”

McCree shuddered visibly. Reinhardt had a horrified expression on his face, his tea mug locked halfway to his mouth. The plate of cinnamon rolls lay forgotten.

Reinhardt found his voice and interjected softly, “McCree...I had no idea...”

McCree continued on as though he had not heard his partner.

“Before you ask, no. I never, EVER, participated in that vile, disgusting practice. It would have earned me more credit internally with the Deadlocks, but there were some boundaries that I was not going to cross. It made some of the more hardened members suspicious of me, but I didn’t care. I had things under control, and I went into the Deadlocks with a false identity. ‘Jason McGrath.’ They knew I was a ‘former’ cop turned criminal opportunist, but no, I was ahead of them. I knew what I needed to do to protect myself and those I loved. So, I participated wholeheartedly otherwise. Every heist. Every robbery. I hurt a lot of people while I was with the Deadlocks. And those actions will haunt me for the rest of my days.”

McCree leaned back in his chair, with a heavy sigh.

“You were never with them.”

McCree looked at Reinhardt.

“What?”

The older man set his now-cold tea mug down gently, and repeated himself.

“You were never truly with them. You were not ever really a Deadlock. Everything that you did, you did so that they could be brought to justice. You are not an evil man, McCree.”

McCree gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“I wish that were so. I haven’t even told you the worst of it.”

He rubbed his eyes in fatigue as he recalled events.

“You see, Reinhardt, the Deadlocks had a shooting technique that they developed called the ‘Deadeye.’ Through a careful measure of focus and meditation, it’s possible to shoot multiple targets with perfect accuracy in a fraction of a second. After I was initiated into the gang, they taught it to me. And it was this that was their undoing. It was also this that made me realize that I have a truly dark side.”

Gulping slightly, McCree paused.

“With what I tell you next, with the level of cruelty I reached, I will understand if you hate me, if you are disgusted by me.”

McCree clutched at his empty mug, the muscles in his arm twitching. Reinhardt was afraid that McCree was going to squeeze the mug hard enough to shatter it, but just as he was about to intervene and take the mug from him, McCree relaxed his grip.

“There was a woman in the Deadlocks that I grew rather close to. Her name was Olivia. She was just as hardened as the rest of them, but there was one thing that was different about her. She was kind to me. Everyone else in the Deadlocks gave me either grudging respect for my abilities or made it quite clear that they hated me because of my ‘past’ as a cop. Not Olivia.”

“As the months wore on, and my investigation continued, I got to know her better. I learned that she joined the Deadlocks a few years earlier as a teenager, because she had no place else to go. She had been on the streets, homeless and an orphan. Eventually, the Deadlocks took notice of her after she pickpocketed one of their members. Instead of making an example of her, they brought her in. They became her family. They transformed her from a scared street thief kid into a hard killer. But, for whatever reason, she decided to take pity on me. I don’t know. Maybe she thought I had potential to be truly ruthless. Maybe I thought I could bring her back into the light based on the small glimmers of good I saw in her. She was right. I was wrong.”

McCree fell silent. Reinhardt did not know what he could do to comfort his partner. It was obvious that McCree was suffering from some kind of post traumatic stress from his time with the Deadlocks. Several uncomfortable minutes passed in silence, that Reinhardt thought best broken with a refill of their beverages. He went back inside, taking his and McCree’s cups with him.

When Reinhardt returned, he set down McCree’s new cup of steaming coffee gently in front of him, and placed his hand consolingly on McCree’s shoulder.

“Here,” he said softly, “I thought you would like this.”

McCree said nothing, but looked at Reinhardt with a tormented gaze.

Reinhardt eased himself back into his chair and sighed. He reached out his hand and put it gently on top of McCree’s, softly rubbing the back of his hand.

“McCree. Listen. You may think yourself a monster because of your experiences with the Deadlocks. You may think that you are beyond redemption. I don’t. I _know_ that you are not. You’re a good, kind, honorable man that I am _proud_ to call my partner, and my lover. There is no one I would rather be with. If you feel that there are tarnishes upon your soul because of your time with that gang, which I will remind you, you were there to bring them to justice, I will be there to support you and help you through it.”

McCree paused before responding.

“Reinhardt, it is not my time with the Deadlocks that marks my soul with blackness. The things I did with them were vile, but I was able to work through it because I knew I was eventually going to get them all turned in.”

He took a slow drink of coffee, shuddering at the bitterness.

“All except one.”

Reinhardt peered at him.

“Olivia.”

McCree nodded, his face a mask of pain, anger, and regret.

“Yes. I don’t know why I thought she was redeemable. Perhaps my pity for her after learning her history led me to become blind to her true nature. I should have listened to my deeper instincts while I had the chance.”

McCree drank another gulp of coffee, his right hand clutching at Reinhardt’s.

“Towards the end of my time with the Deadlocks, Olivia and I had become very good friends. We were always hanging out, chatting and laughing, drinking after a successful heist. She would ask me stories about what life was like for me as a cop, and I would tell her about my previous cases. We were inseparable, and with each passing week, I thought I was making headway with her.”

Reinhardt raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

Another quick drink.

“One day, a few months later, I received word from Olivia that the chief of the Deadlocks wanted to meet with me. She said that he had been impressed by my actions thus far. This was shortly after I had led a heist that had been rather successful in acquiring weapons from a nearby military supply depot.”

Both of Reinhardt’s eyebrows shot up at once.

“You raided a military supply depot?”

McCree’s bearded visage became impassive.

“Yes. The Deadlocks were going to conduct the raid whether or not I was involved, but I figured at least that if I was in charge of it, casualties could be avoided. I was right. The depot wasn’t as heavily guarded, because I was able to get word to the chief.”

McCree waved a hand dismissively.

“But that’s a story for another time. I was naturally thrilled that Olivia had told me this. I figured that by meeting the Deadlock leader, I could gather information which would seal the deal on this case, and bring them all in. Before this, the leader of the Deadlocks had been very cloak and dagger. Very few members had even seen him. It should have struck me as odd that word to meet him would have been sent through Olivia. Though she was an extremely effective agent of the Deadlocks, she was definitely not one of the most senior members. There were several people who had been apart of it the gang for much longer and who had much higher seniority than she did. I would say that this was my first mistake, but my path of errors was long filled before this.”

Reinhardt tried to get a read on his partner, but McCree had blocked all emotion from his face.

“A meeting place and time was arranged, at one of the lesser used safehouses the Deadlocks had, an old farm house. And when I arrived, that’s when I knew everything was fucked.”

McCree took a deep breath before continuing.

“The safehouse was shrouded in darkness, no lights on at all. I walked through the house with my flashlight, unable to find anyone. I checked my watch. The time was accurate. I was starting to get concerned. Then, when I headed back downstairs, I noticed the door leading to the backyard was open. I walked through it, and I saw Olivia, standing beside a big, broad shouldered man with an extremely cruel face. There were several grunts from the Deadlock gang with them. And on his knees, on the ground in front of the Deadlock leader, hands bound behind his back and gagged, was my father.”

Reinhardt was shocked in silence.

He reached his hand across the table to comfort McCree, but McCree drew his hand back.

McCree now averted his partner’s gaze, and looked away from him, though Reinhardt could see his eyes glistening.

“I was stunned, and horrified. I looked at Olivia, and she had a very satisfied smirk on her face. I knew from that moment that she had betrayed me. She had been leading me on from the very start. The leader looked me right in the eye, and with a cold, merciless smile on his ugly mug, he said, ‘Well then, MacGrath. So glad that you could join us tonight. Or is it McCree? Jesse McCree, so-called former detective from the Santa Fe police department?’ I didn’t say anything, and he pressed on, ‘To be honest, I don’t really give a shit what you call yourself. At this stage, you are either a filthy, doughnut eating, cock sucking pig bastard, or a valuable member of my crew. So, I’m going to give you this one chance to prove yourself. You can either step forward and kill your daddy here, and really show that you have what it takes to be one of us, or you can not. Now, should you pick that latter option, then my daughter here,’ and he put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders, where she still wore that infuriatingly smug expression, ‘will first kill your dear old father, and then she will kill you. But not before my men have had their way with the both of you. Which will it be, McCree? Are you a ruthless, cold-hearted murderer, capable of killing his own father without a second thought? Or are you a worthless pig fucker whose only real accomplishment will be to have a defiled corpse alongside his poor daddy?’”

McCree looked up at Reinhardt, and the older man looked as though he was going to be sick.

Reinhardt swallowed down the bile that had risen up in his throat, and he asked, “What did you do?” Though he was horrified to hear the answer.

McCree fixed him with a piercing gaze filled with anger and anguish, not directed at Reinhardt, but directed on his past.

“I stalled for time. I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to do. I knew that the only thing that would get me and my dad out of this situation was the Deadeye. At this time though, I had only just reached a point in my status with the Deadlocks that one of the higher ranked members in our particular group was teaching it to me, but I had not yet done it successfully. I knew that I needed to be calm and I needed to wait for the right moment for it. So, I stalled them. I looked at Olivia, and said, ‘Daughter, huh? I never would have guessed that you were actually the daughter of the leader of the Deadlocks. Everything you told me was a lie.’ She shrugged her shoulders, and said, ‘Not everything. I did like you, McCree, and in the start, I did think that there was hope for you. After a while though, there were some things about you that were just off. You avoided casualties like they were the plague. Even if killing ONE person would have made a job ten times easier, you wouldn’t do it. At first, I thought that was just because you were soft. But then, after your first couple of heists, things always seemed like they were just too easy. So, my father asked me to get close to you and see what I could learn. And I gotta say, you _ate_ that poor little street orphan turned to crime bullshit I fed you. Daddy’s girl at heart, right? My suspicions were really confirmed though after your last heist. There is absolutely no way, no matter how much planning you went through, for that job to be that easy. You needed outside help, and that help was the Santa Fe police department. So, I think we’re equal on the liar scale here.’ I turned to look at the Deadlock leader, and I said, ‘You haven’t given your name, though you don’t need to. Scar across the entirety of your face, large physique, dark, beady eyes...it’s clear that you are Alexander Dimitrikov. I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised that someone with as much of a...history as yours would be the leader of the Deadlocks. Although, the last I heard, you should still be in jail in New York.’ Dimitrokov sneered, and then he replied, ‘That pen the feds had me locked up in was a real shithole. Despite that though, it wasn’t the hardest thing to break out of. Especially when you bribe a few guards. And then have them killed later on so that there’s no chance of them talking.’”

Reinhardt wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“What a monster.”

McCree inclined his head.

“I knew time was running out. I had been building my concentration and focus, and I needed to unleash the Deadeye. For the sake of me and my father. Dimitrikov said, ‘Enough talk. What will you decide, McCree?’ I looked him right in the eye, and I said, ‘Neither,’ and I acted. I felt energy and focus course through me, and time slowed to a crawl. I could see the expression change on Dimitrikov’s face from surprise to rage, but it made no difference. He started lifting his arm to direct his men to fire on me, but their fate was already sealed. In a fraction of a second, I saw all of them clearly. One bullet each. And I fired. Dimitrikov’s men went down instantly, my rounds piercing their skulls. Dimitrikov and Olivia I didn’t shoot to kill though. I shot to wound and disable the both of them.”

He looked up at Reinhardt. Reinhardt’s face was stoic, as though he was thinking of something. He looked away again, and continued.

“I advanced on Olivia and Dimitrikov with cold ferocity. These people had caused suffering to Santa Fe, to me, my father, and they were going to pay for it. Olivia was trying to crawl to her gun, for one last desperate stand. I picked her gun up before she reached it, and trained it on her. ‘Don’t move,’ I said. She spat blood on the ground at my feet, looking at me with a gaze filled with loathing. ‘What are you going to do, McCree?’ She said. I said nothing, and she continued, ‘You’re weak. You always have been. A sniveling coward with so much wasted potential. A frightened little bitch that has to stand behind others in a _police force_ to do anything noteworthy. Go ahead. Lock up me and my father. We will bide our time, waiting for the right moment. Then, we will escape. We will hunt you. We will kill you. But before that,’ she said with a wicked grin crossing her face, ‘We will kill your old man. And make you watch.’ I whispered, ‘Shut up.’ Still with that horrible smile on her face she said, ‘But we will have our fun first, you see. Your father will watch as his son gets raped and violated by the most brutal men the Deadlocks have at their disposal, and finally, with you broken and mangled,’ she cackled, ‘I will put a bullet in between his eyes! Hahaha...ARGH!!’”

McCree gulped in air, struggling to continue.

“I snapped. I shot her again, shooting out her left kneecap, screaming for her to shut up. She writhed on the ground in agony, and I lifted her up by her throat, squeezing almost enough to crush her windpipe. She clutched at my hands trying to get me off, trying to kick me with her right leg, though her strikes were becoming weak. I had fire in my eyes, and for the first time all night, I saw fear in her. I said, in a low, cold voice, ‘You nor your father are ever going to hurt anyone again. Not in Santa Fe, not ever. And especially, not me or my dad.’ I put her gun up to her forehead and said, ‘Goodbye, Olivia.’ Just as I was about to fire, my father, who had managed to work his gag loose during the confusion, shouted at me, ‘Jesse! Stop this!’ I looked at him with the same rage-filled expression. He didn’t flinch or quiver. I said, ‘Dad, this piece of shit has caused enough suffering and pain!’ And my father replied, ‘Then let her rot! Let her and her father be taken in and tried, throw away the key! I warned you when you took on this mission, do not become like them! I don’t know all the manner of horrible things that you have seen since working undercover, but you are still a good, honorable man, Jesse! There is no honor in killing someone in cold blood. Let her go.’ I turned to look back at Olivia, staring into her eyes. She looked at me coldly, and squeaked out, ‘Do it. End my life. Kill me and my father. You know that if we get in jail we will escape. You won’t be safe. This is the only way to protect yourself and your dearest daddy.’ I looked back at my dad, and he looked at me pleadingly. The fire died out of my eyes, and as I turned to look back at Olivia I said, ‘No. I won’t do it. I don’t follow your orders, and killing you in cold blood would give you what you want. You would win. I can’t allow that.’ And I loosened my grip, letting her fall to the ground. Dimitrikov lay unconscious. I told my dad to head inside the farmhouse and call for the police. The Deadlocks were over.”

McCree looked up at Reinhardt as he finished his story. Reinhardt had crossed his arms and was stroking his beard thoughtfully. He leaned in and asked, “So, what happened after that?”

McCree tilted his cup idly.

“The Santa Fe police arrived, and Olivia and her father were taken into custody. Since they were the head of the Deadlock gang, it didn’t take long for the remaining organization to collapse and the members to be rounded up. When the trial came, Olivia and her father were facing the death penalty, but the judge served them life sentences instead. Their lawyer managed to convince him to lessen the sentence, though how I’m not sure. There were whispered rumors that the lawyer had something on the judge, but no one knew for sure. So now, they sit in prison. I was questioned about the deaths of the Deadlock members I killed when I used the Deadeye, but nothing came of it when I stated I acted in self-defense and extended self-defense of my father. All my other crimes that I committed while I was undercover were dismissed.”

Reinhardt nodded slowly, and then asked, “So, why would you think that I would hate you for your past?”

McCree choked up, with tears brimming in his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? When I killed those Deadlock grunts, when Olivia’s fate was held in my hands, I _enjoyed it_ , Rein. The rush, the surge of power, the _taste_ of that rage, it was intoxicating. I wanted more. For the very first time since I had gone undercover, no, since I had started my career as a detective, I realized that I had a dark side. There is a shadowy monster within me that thirsts for blood and power in the wrath of justice. And it terrifies me. Don’t you see? That’s why I can’t be with you. I can’t put someone as good and pure as you in the danger of this beast.”

Reinhardt stood up in his chair, slamming his hands on the table.

“But you _stopped_ yourself, Jesse. You didn’t give in to your internal demons that night! It takes an enormous amount of strength to overcome something like that!”

McCree replied, “And when it shows up again, as I know it will? How do I know that I can control it? What happens if you get in the way of it? Or Winston? Or someone else? I cannot allow someone to be hurt on account of me!”

Reinhardt stepped around the table, kneeling in front of McCree, holding his face in his hands.

“It won’t. Because I will never give up on you. Your struggle with your demons is not your fight alone anymore. I will be here for you, and I will help you through it. Despite what you may say, I _know_ that you are a good man. You care for the innocent and their plights. You are kind and compassionate. And it is not for you to decide that you are not worthy for me. I love you Jesse McCree, and I will never, ever let you give up on yourself!”

Tears had come into Reinhardt’s eyes as well as he held his love, staring into McCree’s soul. McCree’s lip started trembling, and he threw his arms around Reinhardt, holding him tight and close. He started sobbing openly, choking out, “Reinhardt...Reinhardt, I am so sorry. I thought once you knew my past, you would abandon me. I am so sorry for thinking less of you, for being so selfish as not to tell you. Please, forgive me.”

Reinhardt also let his tears fall freely, gently rubbing his hand over his partner’s back.

“Shh, mein bärchen. I forgive you. You have gone far too long dealing with this on your own. You are not alone anymore. I am here with you, and I will never leave you.”

McCree clutched at him, sobbing into his shoulder. The pair held each other, giving support and security that neither could have on his own.

Unbeknownst to the both of them, there was a tall, dark-haired man with sharp, angular features in the cafe who overheard the entirety of McCree’s confession. This man lit a cigarette and took an extended drag, exhaling slowly. _So,_ he thought to himself, _Jesse McCree has a dark side. A caged beast that is raring to be unleashed. How interesting._ And with a dark, ominous smile, Genji Shimada stepped out of the cafe and headed down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was certainly emotionally charged, wasn't it? Not gonna lie, I was crying while I was writing the end of this chapter. This wraps up the development chapters that I wanted dedicated directly to McCree and Reinhardt, the mini-story within the story that got started with Chapter 6. From here on, Chapters 9-12 will be focused on the overall story and wrap-up of Deadlock Noir, with McCree and Reinhardt's relationship taking a backseat so that the rest of the fic can be fleshed out effectively. What will Genji do next, after his shadowy reveal? Stay tuned for more updates to find out, I suppose lol. As always, thanks to everyone that finds this fic entertaining, you are all awesome folks. :D Oh, and just as an aside. Originally, I was going to include more smutty delight in this chapter, but it didn't feel right to do with how the chapter ends. That being said, I will be writing a stand-alone chapter that takes place back in McCree and Reinhardt's apartment after they get back from the cafe. It won't be included in the main Deadlock Noir listing, because it is purely optional. I'm going to create a separate work for it titled Deadlock Noir - Extras, for anyone that is interested in reading le fap material. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anyway, I have been rambling a bit, so I'll let whoever is reading this presently go. Hope you're all having a great end to summer, and are looking forward to fall!  
> -BearWulf


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

The next day found McCree and Reinhardt speaking once again with Chief Morrison in regards to speaking with Emily about her source.

“Sir, we have no other leads at this time. We need to speak with her about who her source was, otherwise, we’re never going to get anything that will unravel anything about what the Shimada are up to!” Reinhardt said firmly.

Chief Morrison had tented his fingers and had a studious expression on his face. He sighed and said, “And what do you think, McCree?”

Pushing up his fedora, McCree said, “I agree with Rein, Chief. Since the warehouse fire, levels of Dragonfyre in circulation on the street has gone down, that’s true. But it doesn’t help us any if the _origin_ of it remains undiscovered. We need to speak with that reporter. _Someone_ on the inside was feeding her that information when she was about to publish that article, months ago,” McCree looked up into the Chief’s face with an almost pleading expression.

“Please, Chief. Let us investigate this.”

Morrison rubbed a hand across his face, considering his two detectives. There was a slight layer of stubble there, making it apparent that he hadn’t shaved in some time. Finally, after a tense few minutes, he assented.

“Fine. You can interview Ms. McDermott and see what you can find out. Keep in mind though that the only reason that I’m letting this through is because Ms. Oxton has finally recovered, and is back home. That being said, you’re both going to be delicate in this operation. The last thing I need people getting wind of are my top detectives harassing a reporter and her girlfriend after a thoroughly traumatic experience. Understood?”

Reinhardt and McCree nodded solemnly.

“Good. Now get out of here.”

They both got up and headed out of Morrison’s office. McCree stopped at the door, looking back at the Chief. He noticed that Morrison looked exhausted, not only in his unkempt stubble, but there were clear shadows under his eyes, which were bloodshot. Morrison wasn’t getting much sleep lately, that was apparent. McCree hesitated, and then turned back to Morrison.

“Chief.”

Morrison grunted.

“What now, McCree?”

McCree paused, choosing his words carefully.

“Is everything alright? You seem...worn.”

Morrison looked up at him with a glint in his eye.

“I’m fine, McCree.”

Unconvinced, McCree pressed further, “Are you sure? Because you-”

Morrison stood up from his desk, raising his voice somewhat, “I said, I’M FINE, detective McCree! Now get out!”

He pointed firmly at the door.

McCree took the hint and left Morrison’s office, closing the door behind him. Reinhardt wasn’t on the staircase, so McCree guessed that he had already headed back down to their office. After making his way downstairs, he paused outside his and Reinhardt’s office door, noticing Jamison Fawkes down the hall. He narrowed his eyes. What was he doing here? Fawkes was looking shifty-eyed, clearly trying to avoid being seen. Usually, if he were to appear in the station at all, he would be accompanied by Reyes, but it appeared that Fawkes was alone.

 _Come to think of it_ , McCree thought to himself, _I haven’t seen Reyes at all for at least the past week._ Something was off. McCree relinquished the doorknob to his and Reinhardt’s office, and followed Fawkes down the hall, being careful to stay hidden and quieting his footsteps.

After several minutes, it appeared that Fawkes was making his way towards the evidence room. McCree halted, observing him. Civilians generally had fairly free access to the station, but things like the evidence room, the armory, the offices, and Winston’s lab were quite thoroughly off-limits. Sure enough, Fawkes tested the doorknob of the evidence room, and seeing that it was locked, pulled a small leather case out of his pocket. McCree felt he had observed him long enough.

Clearing his throat loudly, McCree stepped up to Fawkes.

“Mr. Fawkes. Is there something I can help you with?”

Fawkes turned towards McCree, quickly slipping the leather case back into his pocket. His eyes glinted in the light. Frustration? Anger? He turned towards the detective, and despite what his eyes said, his voice was smooth as silk.

“Ah, McCree! Hullo! No no, not at all. Just taking a look ‘round here, is all.”

Fawkes spoke with a thick Australian accent, demonstrative of the inland areas of the Outback.

McCree crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“I see. Well, the evidence room is off limits to civilians.”

Fawkes put on a wide, clearly forced grin.

“O’course, o’course. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

There was anxiety in his voice. McCree could tell that Fawkes just wanted to get away from him. With a brisk nod, McCree said, “As you should. Well, if that’s all, I’d suggest you head on out, unless you have some particular business here, Mr. Fawkes.”

Still with that same forced grin, Fawkes put his hands in his pockets and nodded curtly to McCree, heading for the entrance of the station. McCree fell in step behind him.

As they reached the entrance, Fawkes opened the door and bid farewell, light reflecting off his leather jacket that signified him a member of the Roadhogs gang. As Fawkes was heading down the drive, McCree called out to him.

“Oh, Mr. Fawkes, one more thing.”

Fawkes stopped, his shoulders tensing.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what Reyes is up to, would you? I haven’t seen him around the station for some time, and he’s usually here every couple of days to see the Chief.”

Fawkes turned towards McCree, his dirty blond hair looking as though it was on fire in afternoon sun.

“Ah, no. No idea what the boss is up to, to be honest. I haven’t seen him either. Do let me know if you run into him, right?”

McCree nodded, but he glared at Fawkes as he walked away. McCree could tell, he was lying. He didn’t know specifically about which part, but Jamison Fawkes’ body language was dripping with deceit.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t like it, Rein. He’s up to something,” McCree was telling his love later.

Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, with his feet on his desk, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

He replied, “I mean, that’s not unusual. I’ve never gotten good vibes from Jamison Fawkes. If anything, he’s always seemed more heartless and brutal than Reyes is, and Reyes is pretty fucking cold. Despite that though, we don’t have anything on him. Things he’s likely been involved in while working with the Roadhogs, sure, but nothing concrete.”

McCree finished writing up a report on a minor crime he and Reinhardt had solved earlier in the week. He tapped the pen against his desk, a brief staccato.

“Rein, he was trying to break into the evidence room. Now, you tell me. What the hell could possibly be of interest to him in there? If he was going to try breaking into any room in the station, I would have expected the armory, or even Winston’s lab. There are numerous chemicals down there that I’m sure would be very effective at making a bomb.”

Reinhardt shrugged, unsure.

“I don’t know, Jesse.”

McCree settled back into his chair, contemplative.

“Rein.”

“Hmm.”

McCree hesitated briefly, and then said, “Did Morrison seem...off, to you?”

Reinhardt peered up from his reports that he was sorting through, light glinting off his reading glasses.

“What do you mean?”

McCree scratched his beard idly.

“It’s just...I don’t know. When we went to see Morrison today, he seemed like he was in a bad way. He looked fairly unkempt, his eyes were bloodshot, he hadn’t shaved for at least two days. That’s not like him.”

Reinhardt paused, thinking.

“Yes...I suppose you’re right. Well, what of it? It certainly can’t be easy being the Chief of the Police. Besides what he does here, he also has to work closely with the mayor and report to him. He needs to keep up with what the other precincts around the city are doing.”

McCree replied, “That’s true. But his weariness seemed...deeper than just the stress of the job. I’m thinking that it may be something to do with Reyes.”

Rein scoffed.

“Well, naturally, with what kind of man he is, I find that that would be a constant in Morrison’s life.”

McCree groaned.

“Rein, this is serious. I know what you think of Reyes, and frankly, I don’t like him all that much either. That being said though, there is something going on. Where has he been for the last two weeks? That’s the last time that I saw him at the station. And now that I think on it, that’s really when Morrison has started looking disheveled. The man is far too meticulous and ordered to let that happen to him for no reason. And what about Jamison Fawkes? What is he doing here at the station, without Reyes around? Attempting to break into the evidence room, nonetheless?”

He eased back in his seat, drumming his fingertips against his desk.

Reinhardt peered at his partner, contemplative, before giving a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.

McCree slowly shook his head. Perhaps he was overthinking things. With how he processed information, it was possible that he was seeing things and looking at connections that weren’t there, but still...he _felt_ that there was something deeply off about Jamison Fawkes.

He sighed, and stood up from his desk, stretching. He put on his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

“Whatever may be going on with Mr. Jamison Fawkes, we have pressing matters to attend to. You ready to go and speak to Emily?”

Reinhardt put away his reading glasses and got up as well. Tenderly, he tugged on McCree’s scarf, making sure that it was snugly secured against his throat. Reinhardt looked up from his task, and lightly brushed his hand against his partner’s cheek.

“Actually, you go on ahead. There’s something in the evidence room that I want to take a look at. I had previously dismissed it, but with recent events, I’m thinking it may require some additional analysis.”

McCree nodded and opened the door, but paused before heading out into the hall.

“Rein?”

The older man turned to look at him.

“Hmm?”

“What’s in the evidence room that you want to take a look at?”

Reinhardt sighed deeply.

“The one piece of evidence that fucked this whole thing over the last time.”

He did not elaborate further, and McCree, with curious thoughts going through his mind, left the office.

 _What could Rein mean,_ McCree thought to himself. He was already aware of what Reinhardt was referencing, he had after all mentioned it when McCree had first come to Chicago. Despite that, he didn’t know what this piece of evidence was, or what significance it could have to the investigation at this time. He would need to clear this up with Reinhardt later on.

Lost in thought as he walked through the station, he crashed right into Winston as he turned a corner, sending Winston’s carried papers flying chaotically.

“Ow! The fuck was that!” McCree exclaimed.

Winston started picking himself up off the ground, gathering his papers as he did.

“Sorry about that, McCree. I didn’t see you there!”

McCree rubbed his head where he had hit Winston.

“Actually, I think we were both to blame for that. I wasn’t paying attention at all while I was walking. Here, let me help you with those.”

It wasn’t long before Winston’s papers were gathered up. McCree was glancing at them as he picked them up, observing that they comprised many equations and chemical formulas. Looking up at his friend, McCree said, “Winston. These papers...what are they?”

Winston sorted the papers evenly, and replied, “Well, they are my report on that vial of Dragonfyre you found at the warehouse. It’s...interesting, to say the least.”

McCree raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

“Interesting, how?”

Winston scratched the back of his neck idly.

“I’ll need to run some more tests and do some cross-referencing through research to be sure, but that vial of Dragonfyre you recovered is different from what we’ve seen before. It metabolizes faster than the previous versions and compared to acting just as a simple painkiller, it also seems to have the potential of leaving subjects open to...suggestion.”

McCree blinked twice, making sure he heard correctly.

“Winston, are you telling me that the Shimada have come up with a form of Dragonfyre that, what, can be used to control the minds of people?”

The gorilla-like man had a thoughtful look on his face, before slowly shaking his head.

“In the form that you retrieved from the warehouse, no. The most that that seems to be able to do would be heightened emotional sensitivity. However, if my theories and understanding of the chemical formula are accurate, it would not take much further work to adjust it so that, it could be made to make subjects _extremely_ susceptible to suggestion. Perhaps not full blown mind control, but more of a hypnotized state. Theoretically, at least.”

McCree gave a low whistle.

“Well, shit. I’d say that that makes it all the more important that this gets solved. If they’re able to develop this...the repercussions could be devastating. I’m actually headed over to see Emily and Lena, to see if any information can be gleaned from Emily’s contact that she had. I’d best be on my way. Talk to you later, Winston.”

McCree started walking down the hall, and Winston went with him.

“Wait...you mean that Morrison finally gave you and Reinhardt permission to interview them?”

McCree nodded briskly, not stopping his pace.

Winston looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, “What if I came with you?”

McCree turned towards his friend, eyebrow raised.

Winston shrugged.

“It’s just...I haven’t seen them for a while. Besides, they don’t know you as well as they know me. I don’t know what kind of questions you’re going to ask them, but it may ease their tensions if I’m there.”

McCree scratched his beard thoughtfully, then shrugged in return.

“I don’t see a problem with it. Sure, you can tag along.”

Winston smiled, flashing his teeth.

“Great! We can take my car! I just need to drop off these reports with the Chief. I’ll be right back!”

And he hurried off before another word could be said.

McCree was happy to have the company, especially since Reinhardt was going to be looking at the case from the angle of the old evidence, but inwardly, he was groaning.

He felt that Winston’s driving put him in more danger than even the toughest stints in Santa Fe.

Sighing, he headed towards the station’s parking lot.

 

* * *

 

After a ten minute drive, McCree and Winston arrived at Emily and Lena’s apartment complex, McCree with severely jangled nerves. Police work was dangerous enough, he didn’t need his life flashing before his eyes as often as happened when he rode with Winston.

Winston parked the car and said, “We’re here!”

McCree opened his door and followed Winston up the stairs to the girls’ flat. They were located on the fourth floor, towards the back of the apartment building.

Winston knocked soundly on the door, then waited patiently.

The door cracked open a little bit, and McCree saw the red hair of Emily McDermott. She looked tense at first, but relaxed noticeably upon seeing Winston.

“Oh, Winston. It’s good to see you.”

Winston smiled warmly.

“Hello Emily. May Detective McCree and I come in?”

She opened the door a little further, and her gaze flicked back and forth between McCree and Winston.

“Oh. Well, um...yes, I suppose. Please, come in. Wipe your feet on the mat and leave your shoes by the door. I just cleaned.”

Winston nodded graciously, and McCree tipped his hat in gratitude. They both entered and did as Emily asked. McCree took in the apartment, observing every detail.

It wasn’t a large flat, but it was cozy. The kitchen was directly in front of the door, and there was a living area to the left. Beyond the kitchen and small dining area, McCree could see two more doors, leading to what he surmised were the bedroom and bathroom.

Emily gestured towards the seating in the living area.

“Please, have a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

McCree sat in a comfortable lounge chair, Winston occupied one end of the couch. They sat in silence for several minutes while Emily prepared the tea. Eventually, she came out with a small tray, and cups set for three.

Noting the discrepancy, McCree asked Emily, “Shouldn’t there be four cups? Or is Lena out at the moment?”

Emily shook her head.

“You really don’t miss a beat, do you detective?”

McCree took a sip of his tea, savoring it. It was a dark tea, blended with cinnamon and clove. An autumn brew. Thinking, he slowly set his cup down.

“No, very little escapes my notice. The tea is excellent, by the way.”

Winston nodded in agreement.

Emily pursed her lips slightly before responding.

“Lena is resting. Even though the hospital released her, she is still recovering. The vile drug that was in her system, it hasn’t let go of her willingly.”

Winston looked at Emily with concern.

“There are still traces of it in her body? Lena was attacked almost four months ago!”

Slowly, Emily shook her head again.

“It’s not that. The drug itself was flushed out long ago, within a few days of her initial entry into the hospital. No, it was how the drug _interacted_ with her. It’s fairly common knowledge that Dragonfyre is a painkiller. What Lena was injected with did not act like a painkiller.”

McCree and Winston exchanged a glance. McCree leaned in slightly closer, asking, “What do you mean, Emily?”

Emily sighed, and turned her gaze upon the wall, seeing something far away and distant, invisible to McCree and Winston.

“Lena...well, first there was the coma. After she came out of it though, she was...altered.”

She breathed deeply, “As far as the doctors could tell, her internal brain chemistry was severely changed by the form of Dragonfyre that she had ingested. Her memory was affected. There were times when she hadn’t a clue who she was, where she was,” her voice tightened, “who _I_ was.”

She took a quick sip of her tea, which was lukewarm by this point.

“And then...other times, she was able to remember _everything_. I mean _everything_. Things that she couldn’t possibly remember, such as events from when she was extremely young. The most troubling thing though, was that overall, she was a lot more vulnerable to suggestion. Either myself or one of the medical staff would say something offhand, and she would interpret it literally. Sometimes to the point that she would have hurt herself if one of us had not intervened.”

The light of the apartment was muted, but it was enough to reflect off the tears that were glistening in her eyes.

McCree felt suddenly uncomfortable. He understood now why Morrison had been so reluctant to let him and Reinhardt interview Emily. She was distressed. This event with Lena was not merely a one and done situation. It was an ordeal, ongoing, ever changing. A quick look at Winston revealed that the forensic specialist felt the same. It would be callous, almost cruel, to try and pump information out of Emily while she was in this state. Which is why McCree hated himself for what he was about to do.

He sighed deeply, choosing his words carefully. After a few moments of consideration, he said what he had come there to do in the first place.

“Emily,” he started.

She turned to him.

“Yes?”

McCree had been idly turning his hat in his hands.

“Listen, there’s a reason why we came here today. There’s something I need to ask you. It concerns you. And Lena. And perhaps, depending on the information that you can provide, the wellbeing of many others.”

She merely stared at him, reticent.

“Emily. I need to know who your source was, when you were going to publish the story about the Shimada. Who was providing you that information?”

After seeing the state that she was in, he was unsure what her reaction would be.

She considered him for a moment, and then, with steel in her eyes, she said, “No. I will not tell you.”

McCree feared that this would happen. He looked consolingly to Winston for support.

Taking the cue from his friend, Winston said, gently, “Emily, I can’t even begin to imagine what this ordeal has been like for you. You and Lena are some of my oldest friends, and though these past few months have been hard on me, it’s nothing compared to what you’ve gone through. Watching your love, unresponsive to your touch, your voice, for weeks on end would be bad enough. But to then see them as someone different from the person you love? That is cruelty.”

Emily hiccuped, her tears threatening to fall freely.

Winston continued on with a calm, but determined manner that McCree doubted he would ever be able to pull off. He said, “Now, can you imagine that happening to others? Can you really say that you want others to go through what you and Lena have gone through?”

Emily was crying openly at this point.

“N-no. I don’t know. All I want is to keep L-Lena and myself safe. If I tell you who my source was, the danger we’ll be in...”

The forensic scientist said gently, but firmly, “What more danger can you be in? Lena almost died! And if you leave the Shimada unopposed, they _will_ get stronger. Yes, you may be at risk by revealing who your source is. But at least if you give us that information, _we_ have something! Something that could be used against the Shimada to bring them down. Is that not worth the risk, in exchange for the potential of saving dozens, perhaps hundreds of lives?”

Emily tilted her empty teacup idly, unsure of what to say. She appeared to have come to a decision as she opened her mouth to speak, but all were distracted by the appearance of Lena standing in the hall.

Emily set her teacup down quickly, and rushed up to her love.

Reproachfully, she said, “Lena! What are you doing up? You should be resting!”

She made to grab her arm and Lena stopped her grasp, gently.

Lena shook her head.

“No, love. I didn’t hear everything that was said, but I heard enough to get a pretty good understanding.”

Lena was dressed in pajamas, wrapped in a fluffy robe. Besides her attire, McCree could tell that she was very different since the last time they had spoken. Then, Lena had been bubbling and full of energy. Now, she gave off an aura of determination, cold, and focused. He found it mildly unsettling.

She addressed Winston and McCree, “I understand where Emily is coming from, I really do. She’s always been there for me, and she’s always been protective of me, since we were kids. But this is something that goes beyond just the two of us. If Emily won’t tell you about her source, I will.”

Emily gasped, scandalized, “ _Lena!_ ”

Sighing, Lena said, “Tell them, love. Please, if not for them, then for me. I know I haven’t been right since the attack. I know my recovery has been...hard, especially on you. But what I’ve been through, what _we’ve_ been through...it’s not something I want anyone else to be forced to confront. Even if it means sacrificing whatever security and relative peace of mind we currently have.” She gave her girlfriend a determined look with this last sentence.

Emily stared back, with just as much steel in her eyes, but she couldn’t maintain such tenacity with Lena. Slowly, she lowered her gaze, and sighed.

“I don’t like it, but Lena’s right. Firstly, I don’t know the name of my source...”

Seeing the look on McCree’s face, she continued.

“I don’t know his name, but I do have a means of contacting him. Usually, he would be the one to establish contact for our meetings. However, in case there was a time where I needed to contact him directly, he did give me a phone number to use. I will reach out to him, and once he’s told me a time and place, I’ll make sure word gets to you. That’s all I can do for you. It’s been so long since the last time we met, I don’t even know if he’s still in the city, or if he is, if he’ll answer at all.”

Nodding, McCree stood up.

“Thank you, Emily. With your contact, and your contact’s information, the threat of the Shimada may very well be removed from this city.”

She turned a fierce gaze upon the detective.

“I’m not doing this for you, or this damn city! The only reason I am doing this is for Lena, and you had best not lose sight of that!”

She looked him intensely in the eye for several seconds, before turning away.

His eyes flicking back and forth between the concerned parties, Winston decided to step in and break the tension. He gently set his empty teacup down, and stood up slowly, cracking his joints.

“Emily, thank you for the tea, and the help you’ve provided. I’m glad to see that you and Lena are both doing well, but I think it’s time that detective McCree and I took our leave,” he said with a meaningful glance at McCree.

The gorilla-like man crossed the small distance between himself and the two women, giving each a firm hug. Lena waved at McCree after Winston released her, and he tipped his hat courteously. Emily merely folded her arms and glared at him, clearly not happy with how things had turned out.

Goodbyes were said, and McCree and Winston made their way out of the apartment. As they were heading down the stairwell, McCree said, “Well...that was certainly...something.”

Winston nodded in agreement.

“Yes. To be perfectly honest, I really didn’t expect Emily to relinquish and decide to help us. If Lena hadn’t stepped in, I’m fairly sure she wouldn’t have.”

McCree didn’t reply, just nodding slightly. He didn’t disagree with Winston’s assessment. He started thinking about the what-if, what if Emily had never given them the information that they were looking for? He hadn’t really thought about, but if she had said no, and never yielded, it would have put him at a loss. There weren’t any other leads that he had to consider in this case.

As they headed out to Winston’s car, McCree said, “Winston. The description that Emily gave of Lena’s symptoms during her recovery...it sounded like your report of what the Dragonfyre Reinhardt and I found in the warehouse was capable of, but worse.”

Winston nodded solemnly.

“Yes, it was. Although, not quite exactly. What happened to Lena sounded...rougher, unrefined. Unintended.”

McCree looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean?”

They arrived at Winston’s car, and he paused as he unlocked the doors.

“I mean, I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say with any degree of certainty, but I am fairly well versed in biological chemistry. I have to be, to be as good as I am at my job. What happened to Lena, I don’t think was the assassin’s intention. The amount of concentrated Dragonfyre that she had been injected with should have been enough to kill her. And it probably would have, had she not made it to the hospital as quickly as she did. What if...”

He looked directly at McCree, eyes large with realization.

“What if, whatever Lena was administered at the hospital to counteract the Dragonfyre, what if...”

McCree’s eyebrows raised as he understood.

“...the drug that was used interacted chemically with Dragonfyre, causing those changes that Lena endured?”

The gorilla-like forensics specialist stared at the detective, understanding passing between them with silent intensity.

A moment passed before Winston broke the silence.

“That explains why the Dragonfyre that was recovered from the warehouse was not like normal Dragonfyre. The chemical makeup was similar, but distinctly different. And that’s because it was being mixed with this other drug. And I didn’t see that because I wasn’t running tests for other chemicals. And the more muted effects that the sample recovered had, that means that the Shimada don’t have the right dosage and mixture for the cocktail that Lena was exposed to. If they get that though...”

“Dragonfyre can be used as a mind control agent. Chicago will be under their complete control,” McCree finished quietly.

Winston’s eyes glinted.

“We need to get back to the station right now.”

 

* * *

 

After arriving back at the station, McCree and Winston went their separate ways. Winston wanted to go back through his reports on the Dragonfyre that was recovered from the warehouse, see if there was anything else that he was missing. McCree went back to his and Reinhardt’s office, to let his partner know of the developments that he and Winston had uncovered.

McCree opened the door in haste, and hurriedly took off his coat and hat.

“Rein, I need to talk to you.”

Reinhardt was seated at his desk, reading a small leather-bound book. He started at the urgency in McCree’s voice, and peered up at him over his half-moon reading glasses. Slowly, he nodded.

“Yes, I agree. You first though. Were you able to learn anything after interviewing Emily?”

McCree nodded fervently.

“That I did. I ran into Winston along the way and he accompanied me. We learned that Emily definitely had a contact that had intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the Shimada. She agreed to setup a meeting for us with him.”

Reinhardt inclined his head, indicating his partner to continue.

McCree took a quick breath, and went on, “Besides that, we also learned something interesting about the symptoms that Lena had in her recovery. The Dragonfyre dosage that she received should have been enough to kill her. However, when she was treated at the hospital, the medication that she received to counteract the Dragonfyre actually reacted with it. It made a new kind of Dragonfyre, one that left Lena extremely susceptible to suggestion. Even after the Dragonfyre was cleared out of her system, these side-effects remained, and did not subside for months. This new, altered Dragonfyre caused long term changes in her brain chemistry. On top of that, Winston discovered something else that has dire implications.”

Reinhardt looked at McCree curiously.

“What was it?”

“The Dragonfyre that we recovered from the warehouse? It’s capable of causing the same effects as what happened to Lena, just on a much reduced level. Winston thinks that the dosage isn’t right, of pure Dragonfyre, and the compounds that got mixed with it. What we recovered would be enough for subtle emotional suggestion, but not the outright mind control that afflicted Lena, from what Emily told us. However...”

Reinhardt sighed in understanding.

“...if the dosages are right, then Dragonfyre can be used as a mind control agent. I surmised as much,” he finished McCree’s sentence.

McCree tilted his head at Reinhardt, curious.

“Yes, exactly. Winston is conducting more research as we speak, to see what the necessary dosages would be, and how widespread this could be. How did you know?”

Reinhardt stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He gazed at McCree with his piercing gray eyes. He held up the small book he had been reading when McCree first walked into the room, and then threw it down.

“Because of _that_ ,” he said flatly, with a tinge of disgust.

McCree looked up at his partner, confused.

“Rein, what is that?”

Reinhardt clenched his right fist, then relaxed it.

“ _This_ is what caused me to fail in this case over a year ago. This is what caused the entire case to be thrown out in court. All of that effort, ruined by this little book. You see Jesse, when the investigation was underway, and after Hanzo’s death, I acquired this book...illicitly,” the large man said heavily.

There was a silence for many seconds, and then McCree, without saying anything, gestured subtly for his partner to continue.

Reinhardt sighed deeply, then said, “At Hanzo’s funeral, I was besides myself. I was enraged, frustrated, vengeful, and swimming in sorrow. _Genji_ came up to me and said a few choice words. Though he kept up appearances of being upset over the loss of his brother, his eyes said differently. His expression was sad, but his eyes glittered with malice. ‘My brother, though he failed in the eyes of the family, will be sorely missed. His... _sense_ of right and wrong, truly admirable qualities they were. Though, his singular motivations are, in reality, what drove him to his grave.’ I told him to fuck off, that he never knew Hanzo as I did, that Hanzo was a brave, proud dragon, and he was a conniving, deceptive snake. He drew close to me, and whispered in my ear, ‘Be careful, Reinhardt Wilhelm. You don’t harbor the look of someone clever, but perhaps you’ll surprise me. Stay away from this case. Let what happened to my brother be a warning to wayward brutes like yourself. Otherwise...who’s to say that you won’t end up exactly like him?’”

Reinhardt’s face scrunched together, painting an ugly expression on his handsome visage.

“The bastard forced himself away from me, and said in a loud, carrying voice, ‘Thank you for your condolences, Detective Wilhelm. This is truly a hard time for me,’ and he slipped off into the crowd. Not before he shot me an evil glare behind his back. What he didn’t realize though, was that when he was close to me, I noticed this book in his coat pocket, and I pulled it off of him without him noticing. To this day, I’m not sure why I did. I knew it was stealing, I knew that if I was caught with it that there would be repercussions. I just...I wanted something, _anything_ that would help me get vengeance for Hanzo, and I knew Genji was involved somehow.”

Reinhardt took a deep breath before continuing.

“Anyway, I looked through this book, sure that I would be able to find some information that would be a solid implication against Genji. And, you know what I found?”

McCree shook his head, slightly concerned at the manic expression in Reinhardt’s eye.

In a whisper, the older man said, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This book, this journal, was just that. A journal. There was nothing out of the ordinary or unusual about it all.”

McCree looked at Reinhardt quizzically.

“So, what happened?”

Reinhardt sighed, and eased himself back into his chair.

“Well, you know the rest of the story. The investigation continued onward, and it went to trial. I forgot about the book completely, and didn’t think anything more of it. Until, the Shimada lawyers brought it up in court and used it as an example as to why the entire case was invalid, with illegally obtained evidence!”

Reinhardt slammed his fist down onto the desk, scattering various articles and knocking over his cold mug of coffee, which fell to the floor and shattered.

McCree exclaimed, “Rein!”

He bent over to pick up the shattered fragments of the mug. Reinhardt got out of his chair as well, and helped McCree with the cleanup.

“I’m sorry, Jesse. Anyway, it didn’t take much to convince the court after that. The case was dismissed.”

Reinhardt fell sullen and silent while they cleaned up the remains of the mug. Once all the fragments were in the garbage, and the coffee mopped up, the two men returned to their seats. Pondering.

McCree laced his fingers together before breaking the silence, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Rein?”

Reinhardt looked up, resting his fist against his face.

“Mmm?”

“How were you not dismissed? After what happened in the courtroom, I find it doubtful that you would have been allowed to stay on, not after being in possession of illegally obtained material. To be honest, I find it surprising you weren’t removed from service, at the very least.”

Reinhardt clenched and unclenched his hand, his fist shaking.

“I...was forced to say something in my defense that I would rather not have been heard.”

He had a pained look on his face, with his lips trembling.

“I...wasn’t dismissed, for two reasons. The Chief defended me vehemently, but it came out in questioning. I said that the reason I stole the book was because...because...”

McCree raised an eyebrow.

Reinhardt looked at his partner, tears in his eyes.

“Jesse...I...it went on record...I stole that book because I was...I was in love with Hanzo. My defense was that I was so distraught, that I would stop at nothing to avenge him.”

Reinhardt turned away, hiding his face in his hands.

McCree listened in stunned silence. Minutes passed, the clock ticking in the background. Only the sudden ringing of the phone on his desk shook him from his stupor.

 


End file.
